


Ransom Gets A Job (and Accidentally Becomes A Good Person. Sort of)

by forgetmenotjimmy



Series: Put Me To The Flame [1]
Category: Knives Out (2019)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Bullying, Character Development, Christmas, Class Issues, Coming Out, Deception, Depression, Dysfunctional Family, Dyslexia, Evil Plans, F/M, Falling In Love, Grief/Mourning, Hispanic Character, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Inheritance, Lesbian Character, Marta Is A Queen, Murder Mystery, Non-Explicit Sex, Racism, Ransom Drysdale Being an Asshole, Scheming, Spoilers, Suicidal Thoughts, Swearing, Threats, Unreliable Narrator, Unrequited Love, rich people, unlikely friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-15
Updated: 2019-12-29
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:48:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 29,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21807700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forgetmenotjimmy/pseuds/forgetmenotjimmy
Summary: Ransom sat in the beamer, the harsh head lights barely penetrating the enclosing darkness around the car, around him. His arms vibrated with the urge to swerve the car around and drive back to the house but something stopped him. Marta’s dark, soulful eyes in his head.He needed another plan, some other way to secure his fortune. He grinned...instead of breaking a heart, he could win it.Alternative title: The Gradual De-assholing of Hugh Ransom Drysdale
Relationships: Marta Cabrera/Ransom Drysdale
Series: Put Me To The Flame [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1718947
Comments: 161
Kudos: 753





	1. A Plot Is Hatched or Everyone’s Fates Are Sealed

**Author's Note:**

> SPOILERS FOR THE MOVIE! DO NOT READ UNLESS YOU'VE SEEN IT!  
> So this movie is a masterpiece and also sent me into a bit of a crisis. Even as the killer was being revealed I knew it was a clever twist and perfect for the movie but part of me still wanted Ransom to be not a murderer. I struggled with my desire to write a 'good-guy' Ransom story, as I asked myself was it due to my love for the actor, his role as Captain America, or him being a hot guy in general?  
> I still don't have a satisfactory answer, but decided as long as I wasn't waving away or excusing evil behaviour, it wouldn't be problematic.  
> So I consider this fic AU, in terms of Ransom not being capable of cold-blooded murder. He does some still highly douchebaggy things and these things will not be excused or go unpunished in the story. This is my intention anyway, please let me know if you disagree, I'd really appreciate feedback on this aspect of the story!  
> Enough from me, hope you enjoy!  
> Unbeta'd so let me know if you spot anything.  
> :D

December 2019

Ransom sat in the beamer, the harsh head lights barely penetrating the enclosing darkness around the car, around him. His arms vibrated with the urge to swerve the car around and drive back to the house but something stopped him. Marta’s dark, soulful eyes. Damn. The only thing in the way of him procuring his fortune, his birth-right, was the very thing stopping him from enacting his crazy plan. The old bastard had cut him out, everyone out, everyone but her. _What gave him the right? Why her?_ Even as his mind raged, his heart answered. Because she’s the only one who actually cares. She’s the only decent one among them. The thought of how she’d react if he carried out his plan, how she’d weep and despair and maybe…maybe the guilt would drive her over the edge. Feeling sick, he took his foot off the break and carried on driving home. No, there had to be another way. He couldn’t break her heart like that…A smile curled up. He was infamous for breaking hearts but also an expert at _winning_ them.

First things first: planning. His family, especially his grandfather, were not fools, they’d see what he was doing. Even if Harlan didn’t tell anyone else of his insane plan, they’d be suspicious and Ransom couldn’t afford any intense scrutiny. He would have to be careful and patient. Discarding Marta as a target – there was no way Harlan wouldn’t find out and step in – Ransom turned his attention to her sister. If he could woo her on the sly and elope, when the old man did croak, anything Marta gave her sister would also belong to him. That meant a solid courtship and romance that would last until Harlan’s death, it wouldn’t do if Alicia broke it off before…

Further, if he did succeed, it would be pretty obvious to everyone that he had manipulated the women. That wouldn’t necessarily stop him from getting his share, but he didn’t want Marta to use her newly acquired resources to find a way to oust him. She was a nice, quiet person – from the little he knew of her – but when it came to vast sums of money, no one was incorruptible. Although he hadn’t seen any evidence of scheming from her, she did beat Harlan at go so he couldn’t afford to underestimate her. As he was wooing Alicia, he could cosy up to her too, convince her he was changing for the better. If he played his cards right and won her loyalty, then she might even defend him against…

His family. They would try and fight it, looking for weaknesses, signs of infidelity, dishonesty or any grounds on which he could be cheated out of his money. Maybe they’d even manufacture evidence or lies about him. He knew that none of them would really believe he had reformed, none of them believed he was capable of anything useful. The act would have to be flawless and sustained so Marta wouldn’t listen to them.

Gritting his teeth, he pulled into his driveway. At least the house was in his name and had been paid off. He was also covered under his mother’s health insurance and had some money in his checking account. Enough to keep him going until he found another source of income. Pouring himself a finger of whisky, he downed it. Damn. He was going to have to get a job.

...

Out of Ransom's associates, he wasn’t fool enough to call them ‘friends’, Anita was the most intelligent. A corporate lawyer from Vancouver, she had turned down his advances the first time they’d met with such a clever turn of words that he’d been amused instead of annoyed. After years of meeting at dinner parties and functions, she was now the closest thing he had to a confidante. He could trust her not to gossip – as she was only interested in information valuable for her clients. And he knew she’d give him solid, unbiased advice.

She laughed for a full three minutes when he told her what Harlan had done.

“Serves you right, you prick.”

“I thought Canadians were meant to be nice.”

“You always say that when I’m mean to you and I always call you a moron too.”

“Gotta have traditions.” Ransom hit back casually. “So are you going to help me or not?”

“Oh no, I do not need a boy toy and even if I did, I would not call you.”

“Ew, don’t even. I meant are you going to help me find a job.”

“You? A job?”

Ransom snapped. “Alright, you’ve had your fun. Ha, ha ‘Ransom has to work like everyone else’, yes it’s very funny. Are you done?”

Her reply was steady and condescending.

“Calm down, pretty boy. You’re not going to last among us regulars if you fly off the handle every time someone laughs at you.”

Remembering his plan, Ransom closed his eyes and breathed in deeply. “Yes, you’re right. Sorry.”

There was silence on the other end of the phone, then Anita said slowly. “You’re really serious about this.”

“Yeah, I am.”

Sounding more business-like, Anita began. “Okay, so you got a résumé?”

Looking at the sparsely filled document on his laptop, Ransom hummed non-committedly. “I interned as a researcher and I did some modelling a few years ago.”

“Okay, so we need something you can qualify in relatively quickly which doesn’t require a university degree?” He agreed reluctantly and she continued. “What interests you?”

“Huh?”

“What are you passionate about?” Ransom’s mind went blank. There were things he enjoyed doing but passionate about? As the silence stretched, his insides began to dissolve and he missed Anita’s next words. “-average day, how do you spend your time?”

“Erm, I eat, go to the gym, meet people, troll my family on twitter, go for a drive, go to functions, hook up with someone, you know, the usual.”

“Hmmm… how much do you know about cars?”

“They can go fast?”

Huffing, Anita thought. “Personal trainer, maybe? They can make a load of money. You certainly have the charm for it.”

Ransom considered it. He had employed a few personal trainers over the years and had found them useful for short periods of time until he’d grown bored or frustrated and fired them. He wasn’t sure he wanted to become one. The idea of listening to other people’s needs and helping them achieve their goals wasn’t appealing; he could see himself hating any potential clients after a short time, having to smile and nod and pretend to care about their lives.

“Eh, any other ideas?”

“What’s wrong with personal trainer?”

“I don’t want to work for anyone.”

“Well unless you have a business idea, I don't think you can really avoid that.”

Ransom sighed and offered flippantly. “I’m good at sex.”

Anita snorted. “Sure, high-end escort, why not?”

“It would piss off my mom.” He joked before groaning. “Okay, how do I become a personal trainer?”

“That, my friend, is what the internet is for.”

“Anita!”

“Sorry sweetie, but I’ve got to get back to the job I’m paid for. Call me when you’ve joined the unwashed tax payers!”

“Hey! I pay tax-” He pouted as she hung up.

Begrudgingly, he searched for personal trainer courses himself, even going as far as making notes on the differences between each one. It was painstaking work and it took even longer as he grew distracted by notifications and messages. Huffing, he switched to his laptop and let his phone buzz, resting his head on his hand, he clicked through and forced himself to concentrate. He cursed the injustice of it all: memories of school and his teacher’s impatience as the letters danced across the page; his mother and Harlan despairing that he’d ever be intelligent like them.

“Just try harder, Ransom!”

“This is basic stuff, if you can’t figure this out, how are you ever going to get into college?”

“Stop fucking fidgeting!”

“I genuinely don’t know what to do with him.”

“At least he’s good-looking.” His father had told his mother once, shrugging, shortly before Ransom had given up trying to do work. He scrapped by in every subject and didn’t bother attending any classes at college. Thinking about it, he couldn’t even remember if they’d given him the certification or not.

After a break for a quick ready meal he had shipped to the house – no one would deliver that far out, even when bribed – he finally decided on the NESTA course. It was online, 90 days max, the exam was open book and could be done over several sessions and he only had to get CPR training before he could sign up. Head heavy after the intense researching session, he finished the registration for the next CPR training in the nearest city and snapped the laptop shut. Taking his phone to bed, he stripped off lazily and tried looking at his inbox before groaning and giving up, putting it on the side. Even all these hours later he was angry. Everything he’d been promised, handed easily since he’d been a child had been taken from him in one fell swoop. All that money, that inheritance was his! Why now? Why was he being punished for just being who he was? Everyone knew he couldn’t work, couldn’t hold down a job; because he was lazy and arrogant and stupid. That’s how he was. Why had Harlan suddenly decided to cut him off?

_Was_ it Marta? Pouring poison into his ear? Sure, she appeared perfectly sweet and innocent and caring. The perfect cover. Maybe they were... Ransom gagged and rolled over, pulling the covers over himself tighter. _Don’t think about that_.

No, it didn’t matter. All he had to do charm the sister into a quick marriage. Get a job, get close to the family, seduce the sister, marry her without anyone finding out or protesting.

Easy.

Somehow word had got out among his associates that he’d been cut off so the invitations to parties and functions dried up. Sticking his chin up, Ransom settled for imagining how hard he’d snub them when he’d won back his fortune. Although Ransom was avoided the one call his mother gave him, the voicemail about his father’s fresh infidelity was also swiftly deleted, and pointedly did not attend the family Christmas, he kept updated on family business through social media. Meg and Jacob tweeted and posted on Instagram both political and personal thoughts; Meg criticising the racist overtones of everything and Jacob complaining about her snowflake complaints. As Ransom struggled through the assigned reading for the course, dear Uncle Walt secured enough money to start his own publishing business. Apparently he was publishing works from lesser known writers in the crime fiction genre with no runaway hits yet. The Harpy Joni was shopping for a sugar daddy and the less Ransom knew about that, the better.

Ransom was a little reassured that it hadn’t only been him who’d been cut out; he was also more than a little gleeful that they clearly hadn’t found out about their place – or lack thereof – in the old man’s Will. If they had been told, there would have been some massive freak-outs. No, Harlan must be planning to ease them in gently to that news. Or maybe he didn’t plan to tell them at all.

In between swotting for the course, Ransom pondered the mystery. Why did Harlan tell him about the Will? He could have just cut him off. Why give Ransom that information? Did he think Ransom would have tried to kill him in order to get his share? Well, Ransom considered fairly, he _did_ seriously entertain the idea. _Still might if I can’t get my head around the cardiovascular system_. He thought, baring his teeth at his laptop as he read the text, again. The dense text didn’t make any sense the hundredth time and he threw down the pen he’d been fiddling with, cursing loudly. He crossed his arms, huffing and glaring at the desk. Sitting up, he got out his phone and rang Anita.

“You’ve got two minutes, asshole, then I’m offline.” She answered, sounding like she was walking through a busy office.

“I can’t make heads or tails of this garbage!” Ransom complained without any preamble. He didn’t have to imagine her expression as she replied.

“Have you tried breaking it down?”

“It’s in Latin or Greek or something!”

“Google Translate. 30 seconds!”

“It’s hasn’t even been a minute yet!”

“Well, I can see my boss, so...”

“Anita, I can’t read this shit!” He whined.

“Then listen to it.”

“But there’s no-” She hung up on him. Again.

Swearing at the wall, Ransom resisted the urge to throw his phone as well. He growled and put the phone down with a clunk, head falling into his hands. Whimpering in frustration, he twisted his fingers into his hair viciously, letting the pain refocus his mind. _Listen to it._ How was he supposed to do that? There-

His head shot up again and he grabbed his phone. Unless… After some searching, he found and downloaded a text-to-speech app on his computer, leg jangling as he waited impatiently. Finally, he opened the programme and uploaded the course materials. The robot voice began speaking the text and it was not at all pleasant to listen to but he didn’t give a fuck because it made sense! Pursing his lips, he sent Anita a string of emojis expressing his regret and thanks before knuckling down to make real notes.

…

Two months later and he finally finished the beast. He may have gotten a little teary when the diploma had come through the post – lucky he lived alone. Anita refused to tell him which gym she used but she did have a friend who knew of a vacancy at his place. Retroactively Ransom conceded he shouldn’t have been surprised to not get the job. A pretty face and fancy name couldn’t make up for only just qualifying with no prior experience, but the manager did know of another place and as he was a friend of a friend, sent him a number.

The Hollow was an odd name for a gym and it was a little more downmarket than the places Ransom had reluctantly pictured himself working. The owner, Brenda something, was an original hippy, keeping unnaturally young-looking through magic or something, and hadn’t seemed bothered about his lack of experience.

“Your aurora is intriguing, my dear.” She spoke with a faux-British accent. “Dark and turbulent, but soft.” Ransom had barely refrained from wrinkling his nose and laughing in her face, not relishing the idea of downscaling again. “We have a few clients who I believe would be willing to teach you.” Ransom opened his mouth to correct her but then closed it again at her expression. _Well_ , he thought, _I can always quit if it gets too weird_.

The clients were a mixture of middle-aged men and women, with one older lady who was ever so slightly deaf. There were more than a few wondering eyes during the introductions but he didn’t see the need to take advantage of that, at least not at first. Despite himself, he was nervous during his first sessions; but he reminded himself what the robot lady reading the course materials had said about customer relations and also Anita’s great advice ‘some people _want_ an asshole trainer’. He really did owe her a lot and hoped she’d never realize it.

Luckily, no one was too demanding or obnoxious – at least not after suffering through arduous family dinners – so his many years of experience of schmoozing at functions and parties came in handy. He managed to charm most of his clients, the little old lady seemingly not acknowledging anything beyond basic instructions. He almost questioned Brenda’s recommendation until he saw the old broad comfortably bench press more than he’d have expected. Still, he always kept a close eye on her heart rate during the sessions; he did _not_ need her to keel over and for him to lose his job so soon.

He found Marta's sister, Alicia, on Instagram and added her. They commented on a few of each other’s photos but didn’t have a conversation; no need to rush things, Ransom thought.

Phase One was almost complete.


	2. Groundwork or Ransom Is Surprised

February 2020

His birthday hadn’t been a big thing since he’d turned 18. Usually he spent it with friends and joined his parents for dinner around that time. They gave him presents and he’d visit Harlan for the old man’s contribution. The others, led by Walt, often refused to give him anything so in turn Ransom often skipped their parties, unless he felt like riling Walt up. Maybe he would get lucky and frustrate the man into falling over another dog – maybe this time he’d break more than his leg.

So the fact that his parents were still preaching how beneficial being cut from the Will was for him spiritually and his ‘friends’ had stopped replying to his messages didn’t really change things _that_ much. He pitied his mother for taking back his snivelling father – she wasn’t as strong as she pretended to be – and didn’t want to see them. He had heard her disappointment even as she’d praised him for finding a job and felt like screaming.

All his childhood she’d despaired that he’d never make anything for himself and when he finally got his act together it wasn’t good enough. Well, why was he surprised? And his father, didn’t even give a shit what his son was doing as long as he wasn’t asking for things. The rest of them were laughing at him behind his back, he just knew it. They were smug now but they’d see; they would all turn around and fall to their knees grovelling for scraps when his plan was complete.

So he ignored the call from Harlan and turned on some mindless Valentine movie as he shuffled around, half-heartedly sorting through the mail and drinking the last of his scotch. One small envelope gave him pause. His address had been handwritten and it was too slim to contain anything but a card…and maybe money? Curious, he ripped it open and found himself held by the small, simple design of a cake on the front. It was made from cheap card. He opened it and quickly read the message

_Dear Hugh,_

_Happy birthday. I hope you have a great day._

_Love from,_

_Marta_

He turned it over, checked the envelope; there was nothing else. What the Hell? He sniffed and threw it away angrily, watching it arc and spin madly to the floor. Who the Hell did she think she was? Was she _mocking_ him? Did she know he was alone? Little bitch. He stomped around, ripping through other envelopes and trying to distract himself with boring, dense financial jargon.

Much later, he collected the card and envelope and stuffed them in his desk draw before flinging himself into bed and trying to sleep. After about half an hour, he gave up and got the thing out again. He examined it under his desk lamp, studying the swirls and loops of her handwriting. He couldn’t help but imagine her buying it at some cheap gift store in the little town near the house. Did she take a long time to decide which one to buy? Or had she been in a hurry? How long did she think about sending it? _Why_ did she send it? The question haunted him. What possible reason could she have had?

Eventually, his eyes began to droop so he carefully placed it on his bedroom dresser and went to bed; still looking at it through the gloom until he finally dropped off.

The next morning, he messaged Alicia on Instagram.

_> Hey. Thank your sister for the card, will you? _

He received a reply mostly filled with question marks but she agreed and passed on the message.

_> If you call the house, you can thank her yourself._

He sent back a dismissive hand-wave gif and went about his day. The flirty daughter of Mrs. Edwards was back but for some reason his heart wasn’t in his replies to her suggestive comments and slow winks. She picked up on this.

“What’s wrong?” She asked with a mixture of annoyance and faux-sympathy. He’d known intellectually before but her obvious lack of real concern for him churned his gut. He managed to extricate himself with a little grace and focused all of his attention on Mrs. Edwards’ session. She was feeling demotivated because she’d hit a ceiling on push-ups; unable to do more than 30 in a row.

Ransom muttered mostly jokingly. “Pretend some asshole is making moves on your daughter.”

Mrs Edwards grunted and managed a few more.

He smiled, passing her a bottle of water. “Don’t tell me. You’ve taken down more than a few assholes in your time.”

“Bingo.” She panted in between sips. Once she’d recovered her breath, she asked frankly. “Do I need to jab _you_ on the nose, Ransom?”

He met her gaze. Not so long ago he would have spun some lie or created a distraction, or not even bothered to hide and replied flippantly; but now he said calmly. “Not yet. I hope not ever.”

She patted his arm and then cleared her throat. “What’s next?”

He looked at his watch. “That’s enough for today, let’s do a cool down.”

As the months went by, he kept up interacting casually with Alicia on Instagram, whilst avoiding the rest of his family. Whenever he grew frustrated or fed up and ready to throw in the towel, he’d picture giving his begging relatives the finger. Mornings were especially difficult and after a few times he’d been late for appointments, had taken to setting four separate alarms to get himself up. The last one was Joni’s grating laugh he’d ripped from one of her videos and it always worked a charm.

Sometimes he’d look at Marta’s card. It was a symbol of the plan; she didn’t _not_ care about him. He just needed to grow that into real affection; to build enough good will to be safe when the old coot kicked the bucket. This was his birth-right he was fighting for; it would be all the sweeter once he’d won it.

…

In July it was Meg’s birthday. Ransom usually sent her a wildly inappropriate gift to piss Joni off but he really couldn’t afford anything like the hoard of long-haired cats – setting off Joni’s allergies and forcing her to turn down Meg’s insistent begging to keep just one! – for Meg’s 7th birthday or the field of inflatable dicks for her 18th. Plus, Marta and Meg had a good relationship so it would help his cause to be nice and thoughtful. What did she like though? He browsed her social media posts and profiles: left-wing, animal lover, feminist stuff. What did those kind of people like as gifts? He swallowed his pride and asked Brenda – the most similar person he knew.

She hummed. “I suppose as a scholar she must have read most of the relevant material published concerning her interests.”

Not even having thought of that, Ransom just nodded along.

Brenda considered. “At which school does she study?”

He took a moment to remember, knowing that he’d seen it in his research. “Uh, Coronell?”

“Cornell?”

“That’s it.” He confirmed, glad she hadn’t seemed to have registered his mistake. Life was so much more relaxing when you didn’t have smug relatives pointing out all of your failings. Brenda further proved to be a god-send as she actually knew a woman-thingy scholar from across the country who liked to visit the area in the summer.

“I could speak to her and see if she has time to attend. If that would be acceptable for the organizer.”

Ransom found himself stunned. “You’d do that?”

“Why yes. What’s wrong? There isn’t a cannibal feast at this party, is there?”

He barked a startled laugh. “No, I hope not.”

She patted his arm and said knowingly. “Sometimes you can trust your ears.”

She swanned away before he could reply. He spent the next few days trying – and failing – not to think about that too much.

The scholar did make it to the party and Meg hugged Ransom enthusiastically.

“Best present ever!”

Ransom couldn’t remember the last time any of his relations had touched him; other than Harlan’s Godfather-style cheek slaps. However, he managed to hug her back briefly. The scholar was currently – and with embarrassing ease – smacking down all of Jacob’s reactionary comments so Meg grinned and jumped back into the fray.

The syllables were mounting up so Ransom wandered away, dodging Joni and her probably double strength cocktail. Walt had made his excuses, thank God, though Donna glared enough for the both of them. Harlan had tried to talk to him earlier, but Ransom had shrugged him off without a word. It was nice of his grandfather to still agree to host the party despite having cut mother and daughter off financially.

As far as Ransom had heard from his mother, the old man sometimes still gifted that branch of the family with ‘essentials’ every so often, but Joni was looking more frazzled and rundown that usual. Eh, nothing compared to what she’d likely be like once she knew this would be a permanent state of being. He ended up on the veranda behind the house; looking out at the view he contemplated what he’d do with it once it was his…well, half his.

The door opened and Marta slipped out. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

Ransom’s smile was genuine – in fact he had to supress it a little, lest she get suspicious.

“No problem.” He assessed her face. “Needed a break?” She looked so torn between politeness and her inability to lie that he quickly reassured her. “You know what? Don’t answer that,” he turned back to the view, “but it’s why I’m out here.”

She drew level with him and wrapped her arms around herself despite the warmth of the sun.

“How is everything going?” She asked, her big eyes so earnest and concerned as they looked up at him.

His insides squirmed but he forced his face to stay relaxed.

“Well, I can’t claim to be happy but I’m not starving so…” There was an awkward silence. “Sorry, I’m still processing I guess.” He watched her out of the corner of his eye as he went on. “It’s a little hard to take being disowned.”

“That’s not what Harlan meant!” Marta countered immediately, sounding distressed. He levelled her with a steady gaze and she flushed a little, sparking a small flame inside him. “I mean, as far as Mr Thrombey told me, he wanted you to stand on your own. He felt like he was holding you back from your full potential.” Ransom huffed a bitter laugh and barely refrained from asking ‘what potential’. A little dramatic, even for him.

Instead he lowered his voice.

“Can I tell you a secret?” She stepped a little closer and nodded. “I wish he’d done this years ago.” She frowned and he couldn’t help the chuckle. “I mean, part of me wishes he hadn’t done it at all, but hell, I’m 35 Marta, I can’t just learn how to do all this crap on my own now. I’ve wasted so much time. I don’t…” He trailed off, genuinely losing track of where he’d been going.

A little, bird-like hand rested on his arm.

“It’s not even been a year and you’ve already trained in a profession and got a steady job. You’ll catch up in no time.”

“Oh yeah?” He asked hoarsely. “That your professional opinion?”

She removed her hand and his breathing eased up.

“As a fellow responsible, tax-paying adult, yes, that’s my opinion.” She smiled and he stared into her eyes intently before remembering that she couldn’t lie. Suddenly, he felt his cheeks beginning to burn.

He coughed and looked away.

“Hope I prove you right.” He murmured. Laughter from inside broke the moment and he stepped back. “I should get going.” She looked like she was going to protest but stopped herself, just nodding. He left.

As he drove away he thought, he wouldn’t change the view.

…

A week later, the bitch Alison poached one of Ransom’s clients.

“Sorry, didn’t she tell you? She asked to train with me from now on.” The slut simpered in her grating high-pitched whine. Ransom’s blood boiled.

“Oh really?” He countered sarcastically but she only nodded sadly.

“Afraid so, nothing personal. It’s just how it goes sometimes.” Narrowly avoiding smacking her stupid, tiny mouth, Ransom scoffed and stalked off.

How dare she? Who the Hell did she think she was? He’d suffered through hours of Marissa Whatever panting and cringing, trying not to stare at her ugly, strained face as he encouraged her through a pretty pathetic routine. Now all that effort had been wasted, all the groundwork he’d done would benefit fucking Alison! Stupid, lazy bitch!

He went to Brenda but she saw him coming and waved his complaint away.

“I can’t get involved, dear.” Ransom twisted his lip and left as he had no one else that day.

As he drove away, he contemplated how he’d get her back. Perhaps he’d spread a vicious rumour that she had a STD or was pregnant or something, hmm…would that bring him enough satisfaction though? Maybe if he could arrange a small accident, just so she’d be unable to work for a while. His client would come back to him and he’d woo her, convincing not only her but all of the bitch’s other clients to come to him. See how she’d like that! He smiled, imagining it; imagining her tear-stained face as she watched them all with him.

But then the image changed. Now it was Marta watching him sadly…no…she was disappointed. He frowned. How in the Hell would _Marta_ find out if he did anything? He was just being paranoid. His mind didn’t let go of it though, instead considering all of the angles. Her sister followed him on Instagram and he in turn followed Alison; if the bitch suspected him and posted something, then it could get back to Marta. So far Harlan hadn’t seemed to have cottoned on to Ransom’s plan but he inevitably would and might dig, might try to convince Marta that Ransom hadn’t changed. Growling to himself, Ransom felt his shoulders bunch up. He so wanted to make the skank pay! Once he pulled into his driveway, he turned off the engine and took in a deep breath. Instead of risking his plan for short-term satisfaction, maybe he could use this to further it?

After getting inside and making some tea, he called the house. Fran answered and gave him a hard time before telling him Harlan was sleeping.

“Is Marta around?”

“Why?”

“None of your damn business, that’s why!” He snapped and fought the urge to throw the phone at her answering tut. As she went to go find Marta, Ransom pictured her face as he fired her…hmm…maybe at the funeral, that would be very satisfying.

“Yes?” Marta said into the phone.

“Marta, hi.” Ransom replied before his throat dried up.

“Hugh, are you okay?”

“Yes, yes I’m fine. You?”

“I’m fine. Did you want to talk to Mr Thrombey? I’m afraid he’s having his afternoon nap but-”

“No, actually I wanted to talk to you.”

“Oh, okay.”

Pulling himself together, Ransom began. “I wanted to thank you for the card. I forgot at Meg’s birthday.”

There was a slight pause.

“Oh, your birthday card?”

Wincing, Ransom went on. “I know it’s very late. I just, well, you know, haven’t been around.”

“You should. Come around more. I know Harlan would love to see you.” Ransom couldn’t hold back his disbelieving huff. “He would,” She insisted. “I know he would.”

“He say that?”

“No, but I can tell.”

 _Damn their ‘friendship’_ , Ransom thought. “You’re pretty close, huh?”

“Oh, well, we spent a lot of time together.”

 _I bet you do_ , he thought bitterly. Then forced himself to ask. “How is he? Not going to croak anytime soon?”

“What? Don’t say that!”

He grinned at her scandalised tone and teased. “What? We all die.” 

“But no one is asking when you’re going to do it. For the record, he’s fine.”

“Good.” Ransom said.

“Was that all? To thank me and ask when Mr Thrombey is going to leave us?”

God, she could be sharp when she wanted.

Ransom sighed. “Well, okay, don’t laugh but I want your advice on something…”

“I’m listening.”

He explained the problem, keeping insults for you-know-who at a PG level so as not to lose Marta’s support.

When he was done she said. “I’m sorry that happened to you.”

“You are?” He blurted.

She chuckled. “Why does that surprise you?”

She couldn’t be _this_ naïve; hadn’t anyone told her about him? And he was sure that he’d probably been rude to her before.

“How do you know that I didn’t deserve this? I could have been a total douchebag to the client or a terrible trainer.”

“If that were the case I’d still feel bad for you because you’re trying to change your life. You’re not going to be perfect straight away.”

He swallowed. “You’re way too kind for your own good.”

“Now you sound like my sister.”

“She’s a cool chick.”

“She told me you’ve been following her.” Was that a teasing lilt to her voice?

He replied in kind. “On insta. Way to make it sound creepy.”

“To me, all of the internet is creepy.”

“You’re not entirely wrong there, Grandma.”

She laughed softly but then sighed. “I’ve got to go; Harlan should be waking up soon. About your problem, I assume you don’t know what you did.”

He answered flippantly. “I don’t _remember_ being an asshole.”

She laughed again and he pressed the phone closer to his ear. The amusement lingered in her voice as she said. “My advice is when you don’t know something: ask.”

“Not everyone tells the truth.”

She sounded like she was smiling as she replied. “No, but their lies can still tell _you_ something. Good luck.”

“Thanks, Marta.”

“Let me know how it goes.”

“I will.”

“Bye.”

“Bye.” She hung up and he lowered the phone, thinking.

What did she mean about revealing lies? He hadn’t spoken to her much in the past, had dismissed her, like all the other staff. Stupid. Harlan wasn’t a sappy man; he must be leaving her everything for a reason. He respected her. Liked her. Ransom coughed and got up. Well, he would have to be more careful about what he said around her but the plan was still on. It had to be.

So he took her advice and asked his former client, casually, the reason for the switch. She’d been very embarrassed and had quickly explained she’d just wanted a more aerobic style, no offence meant. Ransom found taking the high road whilst watching her squirm to be quite enjoyable. He’d made her feel bad just through being calm and understanding. Who knew? Was this how good people felt all the time? No wonder they were all so smug.

Well, not Marta, she probably didn’t get sick gratification from seeing people grovel. How did she enjoy herself? Most likely by making other people happy or some crap. He even managed to be civil with Alison and she didn’t seem to be lording it over him. Hmmm, maybe he’d misinterpreted her tone earlier. Maybe he’d heard what he’d expected to hear.

Since he’d been a teenager, Ransom had looked around at his family and felt superior as he’d catalogued their foibles and blindness to their own faults. They lashed out when they felt vulnerable and were constantly competing to be the best, even his own parents had competed against each other – his father losing every time. The sniping and one-up-man-ship so transparent and pathetic, how easy it had been to pick on little, slow Ransom who couldn’t keep up with his peers in class or properly insult his vulturous relatives. Looking back, uncle Walt had been a douchebag to deflect criticisms on himself by pointing out all of Ransom’s inadequacies. How he _fucking hated_ that prick. Still, Ransom had always thought he’d been apart from all that… maybe he’d been wrong.

He sent Alicia a message to pass on and Alicia whined at him to send his own messages. He replied.

_> I don’t have her number for some reason she hasn’t graced me with a reliable method of direct communication. Am I not worthy? How this stings me._

Alicia sent back an unimpressed gif.

_> OK Shakespeare, cool your tits. and how come you only talk to me whenever you want to say something to my sis? Not cool._

Ransom responded by liking and commenting on her last 30 posts as well as a few from before he’d started following her. She sent back a laughing gif.

_> Down boy. Mamá will be all over me about this thirsty boy who follows me._

_> Alicia, don’t tell me I’m the only one._

They bantered a bit more, Ransom trying to keep things a little flirty but mostly light. He didn’t want to start with overt come-ons just yet. No way Harlan wouldn’t catch wind and intervene if he heard and anyway, Ransom didn’t have a proper feel of Alicia yet. He was just self-aware enough to know he couldn’t expect to convince her to elope after a few cheeky messages and some sex. And further still, he’d need to hold onto her until after Harlan kicked it, with no telling when that would be. No, better to lay some more foundation and consider his boyfriend-into-husband persona more carefully.

With that in mind, he began Phase Two: active friendship. He commented more regularly on Alicia’s posts and they started having meaningless and silly conversations. Once she began trusting him with her serious problems, then he could start with the romantic hints and gestures.

In the meantime, Marta sent him another card, this time with a fist-pumping kitten.

_Congratulations on the win!_

He was frustrated that she still hadn’t given him her number but still, the gesture wasn’t meaningless. He put the new card next to the birthday one on his dresser.

A few days after he received it, he called the house again. Thankfully Harlan’s sleep schedule was apparently like clockwork because he was napping. Even more thankfully, Marta answered the phone that time.

“Cute card.” He began.

She laughed. “I thought so.”

They talked about general things, the weather, Harlan’s health, Ransom’s job, Marta’s.

“Tell me you don’t sponge bath my grandfather. Actually, I don’t want to know.”

“Are you sure?” She teased him.

After a while she tried again to convince him to visit and reconcile. He managed to stamp down on his irritation just enough that she didn’t sound offended by his reply.

“You think I got more time to think about it?”

She sighed. “I wouldn’t like to say. Life can be pretty cruel sometimes, stealing away opportunities, leaving you with regrets.”

He held back a snort. “What could you possibly regret? I don’t believe you’ve ever said a bad word about anyone in your life.”

“I get angry too. Goodness knows I’ve argued with my sister more than a few times.”

“That’s different; that’s family. Have you ever insulted anyone who didn’t deserve it?”

To his surprise, she sighed heavily.

As much as he didn’t want to, he offered. “Oh, you don’t have to answer that.”

“Not today, maybe another time.”

“With alcohol.” He suggested, a bit lost as to what else to say.

“I don’t drink.”

He couldn’t help the laugh. “Of course you don’t.”

After they hung up he realized he’d forgotten to ask for her cell number. Turning his own cell over in his hands, he decided that it didn’t matter…in fact, it would be best if _she_ gave it unprompted. He’d made good progress, he just had to be patient. That night he went to bed with her laughter echoing in his head and her cards on his dresser.


	3. Watching Rom-Coms For Research Or Ransom Has a Merry Cuban Christmas

In October, Great Nana had a stroke and was admitted into hospital. Ransom took a sick day and went to visit. He snatched up extortionately priced flowers from the gift shop and went up to her room. Marta was there but so was Harlan, looking small in his travelling wheelchair.

“Ransom.” He greeted, sounding surprised.

Swallowing back a bitter remark, Ransom just nodded at them both, noting Marta’s warm smile.

“How is she?” Ransom asked.

“She’s just had a stroke.” Harlan dead panned, clamming Ransom’s jaw up.

“I’m not a doctor.” Ransom muttered defensively.

“Clearly.” Harlan huffed and Ransom bit back the irritation.

Instead he gladly listened to Marta’s lifeline comment. “She’s stable for now. The doctors are hopeful that she’ll wake up soon and be able to go home soon.”

Harlan blinked and Ransom suddenly realized that the old man was upset. He knew it was the man’s mother but Great Nana had to be at least 100 years old and she lived with Harlan in the mansion; this couldn’t have come as a shock. Covering his disdain by finding a place for the flowers, Marta showing him a spare vase in the cupboard, Ransom assessed Harlan out of the corner of his eye. He looked feebler than normal, in fact, Harlan didn’t usually display any weariness. Sure he was walking slower and used the wheelchair more often but his personality had always energized any room he was in.

The only time Robert could remember his grandfather had ever looked small had been at Uncle Neil’s funeral. Man, everyone had bawled that day, especially when sweet, little Meg had asked confusedly when her dad was joining them. Ransom remembered wishing Walt had been the one to die instead when looking over at him in the church. A foreign sense of foreboding and regret had washed over him, lasting a few weeks until Walt had claimed his one-year old son could speak better than Ransom and the feeling had vanished. Still, Ransom had avoided churches ever since.

Harlan’s voice broke him out of his reverie. “Marta, could you get mother some more pillows?”

Hearing the real request, she glanced questioningly between them before nodding and leaving.

“What are you doing here?” Harlan began bluntly.

Ransom strolled over to the window and replied nonchalantly. “Where else would I be?”

“It’s 10 in the morning. You do work, don’t you? Or have you messed that up too?”

Ransom's fists clenched in his coat pockets briefly before he deliberately relaxed his upper body and answered.

“ _I’m_ supposed to be angry at _you_.”

Harlan didn’t reply so Ransom turned to look at him. The man was assessing him closely.

Finally, he leant back in his chair. “Forgive me for being ever so slightly smug, my boy, but it seems you _have_ changed. A year ago you would have bitten my head off and stormed away.”

“Here I was about to excuse your rudeness because your mom’s in the hospital.” Ransom shot back. “And when have you ever been anything but smug?”

He took the seat by Great Nana’s bed, looking down at her. God, she was old. “I don’t think I can ever remember the house without her.” He murmured, mostly to himself.

Harlan sighed. “Time waits for no man. Or woman.”

“I took a sick day.” Ransom blurted, suddenly wanting his grandfather to know. “Haven’t used any yet.”

Harlan straightened the cuffs of his shirt as he asked. “How is the job?”

“Worse than interning for you, at least then I only had to listen to one person going on and on about his dreams and vision.”

Harlan guffawed. “Why did you think I became a writer? I couldn’t stand working for anyone else.”

Ransom’s lip softened and turned up a little.

Harlan smiled too. “Well, I’m glad you’re sticking with it.”

Ransom kept his gaze on Nana and Marta came back with more pillows. Great Nana woke briefly but was too groggy to be coherent. Harlan assured Ransom he’d tell her that her favorite great grandson had visited and that Ransom should return to work. He knew he should insist on staying and try to get closer to Marta but he felt odd, so agreed.

Before he left the hospital, he messaged Alicia.

_> Remind me to never get old._

_> Live fast. Die young? How young is young anyway? You’re getting on a bit, aren’t you?_

He sent back a gif of an old person waving angrily and turned his phone to silent. Back at his house, he took off his shoes and face-planted on his bed, curling up on top of the covers.

He wasn’t really sure what was wrong, just that he felt sad and tired. Before, he would have taken something or found someone to fuck away the feeling, but now he only wanted to sleep and never wake up. He hadn’t felt this bad since Uncle Neil and that had been almost 15 years ago. No one in the family had died since him, except for people Ransom hardly knew. Sighing, he burrowed under the covers and tried to sleep.

When he woke the next morning, he had a few messages from Alicia.

_> Hey, sis told me about your abuela, sorry man._

_> u ok?_

_> Srsly dude, don’t leave me hanging_

He tapped out a quick reply.

_> was asleep, I’m fine._

And then dragged himself up and got ready for work.

_> Phew, cos sis was worried. Thought I hurt your feelings_

> _That’s why I don’t have feelings_

He sent back automatically. Alicia sent him a picture of her unimpressed expression and Ransom choked down a laugh before pulling himself together and going to work.

…

Thanksgiving was a sad affair. Great Nana was out of hospital but bedridden. Harlan had hired a live-in nurse for round-the-clock care. Dear mother and father were still trying to make it work and making everyone else miserable through listening to their sniping and not-so-subtle digs at each other. Joni had taken to showing off snaps of her and her ‘new beau’, desperately trying to convince everyone she was attracted to things other than his money. As far as Ransom could gather through social media stalking, Meg was not a fan of this strategy but she was in her nth year in school so the guy must at least have the goods.

Shame that heiresses were less likely to splash the cash on toy boys or Ransom could have just whored himself out instead of getting up early every day and spewing out motivational phrases like no tomorrow. On the other hand, there was something to be said about earning your own money. Once it was in his account, it was _his_. Well, after tax and wasn’t that a bitch? Fucking Hell, maybe the old man was right – getting a job _had_ been good for him. Having a routine had focused his mind, kept him disciplined. Maybe he would have given up his plan if he hadn’t had that structure, the mind-numbingness and annoyance to take his mind off the raw emotions from the betrayal.

Then again, he might have found a rich ditz to elope with by now; might be lounging around until late afternoon and then partying all night. He also wouldn’t be obligated to attend terrible family events and have to listen to Walt bitch and moan. The man had been an ungrateful mooch even before Harlan had cut him off. It was even worse hearing him blame everyone and everything but himself: ‘oh the market is bad’ or ‘no one’s spending anymore’. His uncle had been given every advantage: contacts, money, years of experience in the role. Ransom had his own ideas as to Walt’s failings but kept them to himself…for the time being.

The family managed to get through pre-dinner drinks without too much awkwardness. No one asked Ransom about his life and he didn’t offer information, just watching everyone else interact out of the corner of his eye. He’d spotted Marta talking to Fran in the hallway to the kitchen, but apart from waving hello, he didn’t interrupt them. Fran had given him the stink-eye and he hoped that he wouldn’t have to make nice with the hag for his grand plan to work.

Meg arrived just as dinner was served, slipping into her seat with profuse apologies. Linda rolled her eyes but Ransom smiled at Meg, mouthing ‘welcome to Hell’. Meg grinned back and Harlan said grace.

Once they’d started, Ransom asked Meg. “How’s tricks?”

She huffed and began complaining about a sexist professor who’d failed her. Jacob scoffed and muttered that she was making it up.

Joni interjected. “Not everything happens online.”

Walt snorted. “Then why do you post everything you eat all day every day?”

As Joni gasped and hit back, Ransom resumed his conversation with Meg, officially done listening to stupid arguments. They had to speak a little louder as the others raised their voices. Harlan beckoned to Marta, who’d been lurking outside, to help him up and out of the room, Ransom only noticing due to the brown head of hair in the corner of his eye.

“So, how’ve things been with you?” Meg half-shouted.

“Ok, got a Thanksgiving tip from one of my clients.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, she’s a little, uh, eager.”

Meg sent him a sly look but Walt interrupted.

“You fucked her, didn’t you?”

The dining table erupted with shouts, Linda and Joni admonishing Walt for his language as Ransom just sent him an unimpressed look.

“Well?“ Walt insisted. “Try and deny it! We all you know you’re not capable of doing real work.”

“Oh, is that what you’re doing?” Ransom shot back calmly before taking a sip of wine.

“You shut up!”

Ransom laughed derisively, enjoying how Walt’s face flushed. “You just can’t admit that grandad’s books sold themselves and you had little to no input.”

“I won’t take criticism from a worthless, layabout-”

“Hey!” Meg cried. “Leave him alone!”

“No!” Walt shouted, getting up with a loud clink of cutlery. “I’m sick of this jumped-up, illiterate dog acting like he’s better than me! In my opinion, Dad didn’t cut you out soon enough!”

Ransom’s whole body stiffened and his temper flared. He was so angry that he couldn’t speak. Walt saw it, eyes manic as he barked like a small dog. Ransom leapt to his feet, chair crashing into the floor behind him.

“Ransom!” Richard choked on a laugh. “Come on, relax! He doesn’t mean anything by it.”

Breathing heavy, fists shaking from how hard he was clenching them, Ransom could hardly think, let alone respond.

Joni shook her head. “You boys with your dick-waving.”

“Shut up, Joni.” Linda snapped and the women began arguing.

Unfreezing enough to walk, Ransom stalked out, almost bumping into Harlan in the hallway. The man assessed him in a second, aided by Walt’s mocking barks from inside the dining room. Out of the corner of his eye, Ransom could see the form of Marta down the corridor. Face burning, Ransom marched away. He was still shaking when he got to his old bedroom. Just managing not to slam the door he sat on the bed and put his head in his hands.

For a long time, he just kept his eyes closed and his breathing steady.

Much later, someone knocked on his door. Throat dry and bone tired, Ransom ignored it.

“Ransom!” Harlan’s voice floated in. Sighing, Ransom reluctantly got up and let his grandfather in. Harlan pottered over to the desk chair and lowered himself down.

“I suppose you don’t want to talk about earlier.”

“You guessed right.” Ransom rasped.

Huffing, he got out an energy drink from the cupboard, pleased to see his stash of sugary snacks had not been raided. He took a swig and sat on the edge of the bed, forcing himself to look at Harlan. “You haven’t told them.” His grandfather sighed, knowing exactly what he was talking about. “But you _do_ plan to? I’m surprised you didn’t seat her at the table with the rest of us.”

Harlan grunted. “They’re not ready and she’s not ready for that.” He sighed. “I won’t tell her before and you’d better not either. She’d only try and guilt me into changing the Will.”

Ransom considered. “True. Plus, the pressure from everyone else.”

Harlan nodded and went on, almost to himself. “She already has a bond with Meg and no one _dis_ likes her.”

“Yet.” Ransom quipped dully.

“What about you? Don’t think I haven’t heard about your budding friendship with her sister, or the calls you’ve made.”

Ransom eyed Harlan. He’d already considered how to play this conversation so pushed through his fatigue.

“Well, I don’t know if you’ve noticed but no one in this family is very good at emotional support.” Although he’d planned it, it was still difficult to say: “I’ve always been the dumb kid reading two grades below his level and proving he wasn’t half as smart as you and worth less than half-”

Harlan’s expression was pained. “No one has ever though-”

“Don’t lie!” Ransom burst out. “I can hear perfectly well and I’ve heard it all over the years.” He panted and licked his lips, going on before Harlan could interrupt again. “Marta and Alicia, they don’t know any of that. Sure, I’m a spoiled jerk but,” he swallowed, “it’s different. The way she looks at me. I think maybe I _can_ be better.”

“I know you can be better.” Harlan said quietly before pulling himself up. “But I won’t allow you to hurt Marta in the process. She is a good person and she doesn’t deserve to be used.”

“I won’t.” Ransom promised and it didn’t feel like a lie. Harlan stared at him a long moment before nodding, patting his shoulder on his way out.

“I think Walt should be in bed by now.” He said. Ransom dropped onto his back, staring up at the ceiling.

It wasn’t only Harlan’s death that could reveal the secret; as the man got older, his mind could start to go, or some insignificant consequence could be uncovered by the wrong person. Darker than that was the thought that the more desperate his relatives got, the more likely it was that they’d take action themselves. If someone offed him, not realizing that everything had been left to Marta…The window was closing. He needed to act soon.

…

“My family! What a mess!” Harlan muttered not quite under his breath. Marta pressed her lips together as she got out the go board. Things had been tenser between certain family members since Harlan’s last birthday and Harlan himself had been showing his age more and more. She was getting worried that he would deteriorate quickly, especially if he kept worrying like that.

Almost everyone had become colder or whinier towards him, but one person had changed their attitude to Marta: Ransom, of all people. Before the party, Marta had not seen much of the playboy, only glimpses at events. They’d certainly never spoken. All she’d known about him had been from Harlan and the other family members complaining about him. Although happy for Harlan that Ransom seemed to be pulling himself together and getting a job, she hadn’t thought much about him until Harlan had commented that Ransom hadn’t brought up his birthday.

“He hasn’t sent me a hundred requests for a specific present.” Harlan had muttered, looking down at his hand. In January they’d temporarily switched to card games as Harlan had gotten fed up at losing almost every go game. “In fact, he hasn’t spoken to me at all since my birthday.”

“Maybe he’s busy with his new job. It can be exhausting, going from not working seriously to working full time.”

Harlan’s mouth puckered and Marta asked tentatively. “You’re worried that he’s depressed?”

Harlan started. “I never said that.” Marta just watched him until he sighed. “To be honest I’ve always worried about Ransom, ever since he was a boy.” His gaze went distant. “He was always getting into trouble; restless, no thirst for _useful_ knowledge, he just wanted to run around and explore.” Harlan chuckled. “He got stuck up more than a few trees on the grounds.”

Marta smiled and tried to imagine the underwear model as a kid with scraped knees. “So not an academic.”

Harlan laughed. 

“No.” He sobered. “Sometimes I wonder if maybe we pushed him too hard, too fast. Linda was very disappointed that he didn’t have a head for numbers, like her. Wasn’t much of a reader, either. Neil often took him out on trips, told Linda to stop overwhelming him with tutors and assignments and just let him be. Maybe he was right.”

Now the kid in Marta’s mind was hiding from a woman in long skirts and a severe bun, pouting as he thought about disappointing his family. Her heart ached.

“Will you give him anything?” She asked.

Harlan played a card.

“I’ll call him.” He decided. “And ask him if he genuinely needs anything.”

Marta nodded.That would go some ways to heal the rift between grandfather and grandson.

A few days later, she’d been in town, walking past the gift shop and something made her go in and buy him a card. He would probably have a lot and not be very impressed by the cheap thing, but she was sending it more to the child in her imagination, rather than the grown man who’d barely looked at her.

Little did she know that he would actually appreciate it and he would start speaking to her, asking for advice and expressing his feelings to her. She had to remind herself that he still wasn’t very empathetic and still had certain entitled views but really, what self-interested reason would he have to talk to her? She didn’t have anything but advice to offer.

Now, setting the go board after the disastrous Thanksgiving dinner, she asked hesitantly. “Why was Walt barking like a dog?”

Harlan looked up from the board, expression shifting until it rested on tired. “I’ve never told you where the name ‘Ransom’ came from?”

She shook her head and Harlan leaned back, threading his fingers together over his stomach. “Ransom was the name of Linda’s favorite dog as a child; she loved that thing, was always trying to bring it everywhere, feed it scraps. She taught it so many tricks and spent hours training the thing.”

He chuckled a little, before his lips drooped and he went on. “After her first child was stillborn, she was even more careful and anxious when Ransom came along. She named him Hugh after Richard’s father and made Ransom his middle name.”

“That’s terrible.” Marta breathed, heart aching for Linda, distraught at the loss of a child and desperate to keep her second. The moment passed and her concern shifted. “So everyone calls him… a dog’s name.” Marta concluded.

Harlan shifted uncomfortably. “It’s not a dog’s name per se.” He thought. “I can’t remember how it all started but eventually yes, it became what we all call him.”

“Except the staff.”

Harlan agreed, explaining. “Except the staff. Since he was a boy he insisted they called him ‘Hugh’.”

Stomach clenching, Marta just looked at Harlan.

He read her expression and huffed. “It’s a soft spot, yes, but it’s not as if his nickname has _traumatized_ him.”

“Hasn’t it?” Marta responded sharply and both of them blinked at the force behind her words. Harlan cocked his head and Marta breathed out. “I just meant, you must have seen his expression as he left the room earlier. I think it does affect him.”

“Only when Walt brings it up, which is rare.” He shook his head. “Those two have never got on. I’ve never been able to figure out why exactly.” Huffing, he put down his first piece and Marta didn’t comment, thinking even as her hands moved automatically, placing pieces. She didn’t think it likely that Harlan or anyone else would be much moved to change their habits now, but she could change hers.

Maybe it wouldn’t make a difference.

Maybe it would.

…

Ransom thought all night and left the mansion in the early morning, not wanting to run into anyone. It hadn’t been hard to gauge Alicia’s type from looking through her posts and the people she followed. She liked big, strong, thoughtful guys who would let her be independent but also care for her. Well, Ransom had some of those things down; he just needed to work on the kind and sensitive part. Glad that no one shared his media subscription log in, he watched a few rom-coms, as well as documentaries about different aspects of romance and dating. One of the returning themes was emotional intimacy; expressing feelings and sharing things.

It would be tricky to judge just how much to reveal without exposing his true aim, or risking giving either woman too much ammunition against him. Fabricating worries would be a little too far beyond his acting abilities, especially as he’d have to keep track of it and ensure he was consistent for a long period of time, maybe years. No, he just had to decide what to show and what to keep hidden.

Two days after Thanksgiving, he started a conversation with Alicia about some new show she was in to. He didn’t find it interesting, but struggled through the first season in order to talk to her about it. Walking the line between flippancy and genuine criticism of the leads, he made her laugh and they bantered for a while. _Marta_ called _him_ – from Harlan’s landline – to talk, which Ransom counted as a major victory. She didn’t mention Thanksgiving, even though she had certainly seen and overheard some awkward things he never wanted to contemplate, ever. The only thing he was thankful for was that nothing had changed and the plan was still on track.

By the time of Harlan’s birthday in mid-December, he’d decided what two weaknesses to show and steeled himself.

The party was more subdued than the previous year’s: Great Nana was still recovering from the stroke, Walt was more miserable than ever, Jacob and Meg’s arguments had become more vicious and Joni had taken to talking worriedly to herself when not braying loudly about spiritual cleansing or whatever else she talked about. Ransom’s parents were the only ones close to normal, but Ransom had long since given up expectations of pleasant, non-patronizing conversations with them so that wasn’t any good to him. Marta was hovering again, happily talking to Meg and Fran but avoiding everyone else.

As Ransom was also avoiding his family, he suggested they go to another room, make a mini-party. He would have preferred to have Marta on her own but reasoned that he could engineer that later on. Marta was anxious to be available for Harlan, but Meg pointed out that he wouldn’t be alone and she wasn’t going far. Fran eyed Ransom with badly-disguised disgust on her face but didn’t say anything.

“Have you been in to see Nana?” Ransom asked Meg and she nodded, expression sad; this surprised him, he hadn’t known the two to be particularly close.

“She’s still so frail.” 

Ransom looked to Marta and saw echoed worry. He asked. “You got a professional opinion?”

“Don’t ask me that.” She protested, biting her lip.

Ransom held up his hands. “Just, some warning might be nice.”

“Yeah.” Meg muttered and seeing her expression, Ransom’s stomach clenched. Damn. He’d forgotten.

Taking a chance, he sat on the futon beside her and took her hand, squeezing.

She looked up at him and sniffed. “Sorry.” Glancing around at the others, her shoulders hunched. “I’m sorry. It’s stupid.”

“No, it’s not.” Ransom insisted.

“I wasn’t even old enough to remember him properly.”

Ransom shifted, putting his arm around her and she leant into him willingly. Over the top of her head, he saw Marta’s confusion.

Fran told her lowly. “Her father died of cancer when she was just a kid.”

“You do remember him.” Ransom told Meg quietly. “Maybe you don’t have clear memories, but he lives in your heart.” At her questioning noise, he went on. “You remind me of him.”

Pulling away a little so she could look him in the eye, Meg cleared her throat. “I do?”

Struggling to keep his voice level, Ransom tried to detach, pretend he was a lead in a horrible romance novel.

“He never shied away from a fight and he always fought for those he loved. There wasn’t anyone I trusted more.”

Meg’s eyes widened and Ransom realized that he’d never told anyone exactly what Neil had meant to him; how keenly he’d felt his loss.

Swallowing harshly, he tried to smile. “He’d be so proud of you.”

Crying silently, Meg fell back into his chest and Ransom had to blink quickly, staring hard into the crackling fire.

After a while, he risked a look at the other women, only to find them gone. Damn. He couldn’t exactly shove his cousin off and run after Marta. Pushing down irritation at the drama queen – she didn’t even remember her father! - he checked the clock, it was only 8, he could find her later. Eventually, Meg pulled herself together and apologized weakly, just as Joni pattered in, announcing the cake was going to be brought out. She paused at the sight of her daughter but didn’t press when Meg claimed to be fine.

They all ate cake, Ransom ignoring Walt’s piercing gaze and escaping out to the veranda. It was cold, but he hoped Marta would find him there. She didn’t disappoint and he had to hide his grin.

“Had to escape?” She asked teasingly. He tilted his head in answer, lips quirked upwards. “What was he like? Neil.”

He had to look away and barely managed to reign in his snarl. “I don’t want to talk about him.”

Her response was immediate and apologetic. “Sorry.”

“No.” He sighed. “ _I’m_ sorry. I should… One day I will. He was…” He swallowed.

This was _not_ going to plan. They were supposed to talk about him fearing Nana’s death, he was meant to pretend he cared about that, they were meant to bond over it. Damn Meg for bringing up old ghosts.

Desperately, he tried to get back on track. “I’m scared if Nana goes, Harlan won’t be far behind.”

Daring to look at Marta, he found her eyes distressed but mouth set.

“I worry about that too.” She rasped, shivering. The lights from the house only illuminated half her face, making her right eye glitter and planes of her face appear soft and creamy. It was a good look on her and Ransom’s gaze automatically dropped down to her lips. _No._ He thought firmly.

“We should go back inside.” He said instead, though he didn’t move.

“Yeah.” She agreed, though she didn’t move either.

“We could go to the kitchens. Find a quiet spot and some tea.”

“Hot chocolate.” She insisted, leading the way in.

They talked little as they dodged the caterers packing up and Marta politely secured them some hot chocolate. Ending up in a small alcove around the corner from the main kitchen, Marta perched on the window sill and Ransom leaned against the wall, resting his mug on some shelves. He introduced the topic of Christmas, asking about how Marta’s family celebrated and thanking the high Heavens she mentioned Cuba because he’d forgotten to find out exactly where her family was from.

“Sounds nice.” He commented wistfully when she was done. It wasn’t all an act either, the traditions sounded quaint but the emphasis on family and love – as opposed to dominance – did sound relaxing.

She smiled warmly. “It is. But Christmas here is good too, no?”

Now for the rehearsed bit; his sigh bordered on dramatic. “Sure it looks impressive but it’s less about family love and more about family ranking. Who bought the best presents, earned the most, had the most achievements...”

His head drooped slightly. “I pretend that I don’t care about being the best or impressing anyone but, I don’t know. I don’t think I can stand it this year; acting like I don’t hear them condescending to me, quaffing egg nog just to drown them all out.”

Brow creased, she sympathized. “That’s horrible. You don’t really think they look down…” She trailed off at his expression and tilted her head in consideration. “Well, you’re not going to spend it alone, are you?”

He affected a shrug and an unconvincing smile. “It’s fine. I’ll just watch Christmas movies or something.”

Her lips pressed together and her gaze went distant for a moment; his stomach clenched as he mentally crossed his fingers.

“Well maybe…” She held up a hand. “Wait here.”

He agreed, seeing her get out her phone as she left the kitchen. He closed his eyes and sent up a little prayer.

“The kitchen is for staff only.” The toad’s voice jolted him out of his thoughts. Ransom’s eyes snapped open and his lips curled automatically.

“Are you drunk?” He questioned her.

Fran frowned. “No!”

“Then why are you daring to speak to me?” He asked, voice dripping in arrogance.

She crossed her arms, cheeks pinkening. “Don’t think I don’t see what you’re doing.”

Although irritated, his hairs went up on their ends. Fran was a petty woman with hardly any power but both Harlan and Marta liked her; she did have some sway so he had to be careful.

“Drinking hot chocolate?” He countered as calmly as he could, taking a demonstrative sip.

“Cozying up to Marta, slithering your way into her good graces. I see your little plan.”

Alarm pulsed through him but he just rolled his eyes. “And what is that exactly?”

“You’re going to use her to get Harlan to change his mind. Appeal to her good nature and get her to root for you. It’s obvious how much he respects her opinion and if you can trick her, then maybe Harlan would agree to it.”

Ransom was tempted to rip into that terrible idea and point out everything wrong with it but he took a moment to think. Would it be better to let her think that? Was it even possible to convince her otherwise? She had already seen that he was pursuing Marta for some goal and he’d embittered her towards him too much to change her mind about his intentions.

“Maybe I just like her?”

“What? You want to have her in your bed?” Fran laughed derisively. “She’ll never ever be tricked into even caring about you, let alone sleep with you.”

Ransom thought he heard something behind her.

Taking a chance, he sighed heavily. “I’m not trying to trick her. I just, like spending time with her.”

The oblivious Fran scoffed and snapped. “Oh, you’re full of it. You should just leave and never come back. No one wants you here.”

Ransom bit back a stinging come back and pushed off the wall. Fran’s eyes widened and he laughed at her in his head; just walking towards her made her afraid. He just went past her though and his suspicion was confirmed when he encountered Marta around the corner. She opened her mouth but he didn’t wait to hear her out, instead avoiding her gaze and keeping on going. He didn’t walk fast though and took his time saying goodbye to Harlan and collecting his coat from the rack.

Marta caught up with him outside the front door.

“Wait! Hugo, wait!”

He stopped dutifully; not sure how he felt about her calling him by the Spanish version of his first name, he filled it away the name for later.

“Don’t listen to her. I _do_ want you here.”

He sighed and rested his eyes on her face. She looked so earnest, it almost hurt to see it.

Carefully measuring his words, he replied. “You don’t think I’m using you? To get back in Harlan’s good books?”

She shook her head and he was surprised by the certainty in her voice. “You and Harlan have already made up and why would he reverse his decision when you’ve been doing so well? Being friends with me wouldn’t change his mind about that.”

“Is that what we are?” His heart fluttered, oh God, he was so close.

She bit her lip. “If you want?”

“Yes.” He breathed almost as soon as she’d stopped speaking. “Yes, I’d like that.”

Her answering smile made it hard to breathe.

“Come and celebrate Noche Buena with my family. Máma is excited to meet you.”

Ransom was too emotionally confused to fake tears so he hung his head a second before sniffing and mumbling. “Yeah?”

A light hand pressed against his upper arm. He blinked and looked up at her.

Seeing only earnestness, his lips pulled up a little. “I’d like that too.” He pressed his hand against hers a moment before clearing his throat and they pulled away from each other. Stepping back and waving awkwardly, he left, heart racing.

On Christmas Eve, around 6 o’clock in the evening, Ransom pulled up to the modest Cabrera household. Alicia had been very enthusiastic about having him round, sending him pointers on how to please her mother, what presents to buy everyone and a few ‘useful’ Spanish phrases. He had savvily run them by Marta, who had choked at one or two of them and insisted he never repeat them to anyone he liked.

Taking a deep breath, Ransom rang the bell. What must have been Marta’s mother opened the door; shorter than her daughter, she had laugh lines but a full head of dark hair.

“Hola, buenas noches,” he greeted warmly, eyes twinkling he said dramatically to Alicia in the background, “you never said you had another sister!” Alicia snorted while Marlene tittered, drawing him in and kissing both his cheeks. He looked over her shoulder to see Marta smiling and had to swallow.

“¡Qué encántador!* You can stay.” Marlene joked and waved him in.

Alicia stepped up and kissed him as well. “Hola, trouble. I see you made it here in one piece.”

“Of course, I would never miss a real Cabrera Christmas.”

Alicia smirked as she moved back and Marta stepped into the space, also kissing him on the cheeks.

“Hugo.” She greeted and his reply was huskier than he intended.

“Marta. Thanks for the invite.”

Her big, brown eyes shined a little in the light as she replied. “Glad you could make it.”

The house was modestly decorated: a tree that barely came up to Ransom’s shoulder with tinsel and a few ornaments, an intricate nativity scene, more tinsel and a cheap string of lights. Alicia explained that Cubans were tasteful unlike trashy yumas*. Marta had whacked her on the arm but Ransom had only laughed and complimented the small nativity scene, examining the figurines with a small smile on his face. He personally had no opinion on decorations in general and thought people who agonized about small details were idiots.

Marlene had cooked a veritable feast that the four of them couldn’t possibly eat in one sitting. There were dishes he recognized and some Marta had to explain to him: beans, other vegetables and a dish called Lechon Asado, roasted pig with garlic and oranges – which looked almost too delicious to eat. The talk was lively, the girls telling him tales of their grandmother’s fierce devoutness and love for her family, especially through the difficult years of the dictatorship. In turn, Ransom talked a little about _his_ grandmother. Marta leaned in, eyes alight and Ransom wasn’t surprised as Harlan rarely discussed his late wife. He told them about her career as a nurse in the VA after WWII, her part in the civil rights movement as well as friendships with well-known feminist activists.

“Sounds like a hell of a woman.” Marlene praised.

Ransom smiled, allowing it to turn sad. “She was.”

“How did she die?” Alicia asked, only just dodging Marlene’s love tap.

Ransom held up his hand. “It’s fine, it was a long time ago. She died of a brain aneurism. One day she was chatting about flower arrangements and she just dropped.” He sighed and looked at Marta. “I don’t think granddad ever got over it.”

Marta’s eyes were welling and Ransom took a moment to watch them, in awe of the depth of her empathy. Marlene cleared her throat and enlisted the sisters’ help in clearing away the main course, Ransom only getting away with helping clear the glasses before Marlene convinced him to sit down again.

They were only just tucking into the flan when the clock chimed midnight. They finished quickly and then presents were exchanged. For Marlene he’d bought a set of DVDs of her favorite show with audio options of English and Spanish; for Alicia, tickets to Ariana Grande – courtesy of a client – and for Marta, a signed copy of her favorite author’s new novel. It sounded terribly tragic and sentimental but he’d driven and waited in line for hours to get the damn signature. Marta’s expression as she read the inscription was worth the hassle and as her arms flung around him, he cheered in his head. She smelled good, like spices and some kind of flower.

In turn, he received a mosaic bowl from Marlene – ‘I make them myself’, ‘wow, they’re amazing’ – a Cuban-Spanish phrase book from Alicia, with all the swear words already underlined, and from Marta, another card. This one was handmade with an extremely detailed drawing on the front: Santa Claus was handing out gifts to little children that looked suspiciously like his relatives as other figures skated on a frozen lake in the background. He spent a minute drinking in the details – it must have taken a long time. The message was normal ‘Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year’, but she’d addressed him as ‘Hugo’ again and reading it he could hear her saying it. Yes, he decided that he liked the name: something just for them. Smiling widely, he kissed her on both cheeks and watched her blush.

As he was putting on his coat, he overheard the sisters speaking in hushed, rapid Spanish in the other room. He hummed, hoping that Alicia had picked up on the two longing looks he’d sent her way. Thinking that Alicia’s gift would be useful for future snooping, he grit his jaw at the thought of trying to read in a foreign language. Maybe he could get tapes as well. He said his goodbyes and left the house feeling optimistic.

Now all he had to do was keep it up and seal the deal. Yes, it had been a very good Christmas indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the Cuban Christmas is all ripped from research online so if there are any inaccuracies, let me know!  
> *Yuma = slang for white person (foreign to Cuba)  
> *¡Qué encántador! = How charming! / Aren't you charming?  
> I learnt Spanish from Spain so had fun looking up Cuban slang though I couldn’t work most of it in. If anyone knows any more common/accurate phrases, let me know!


	4. A Real Friend or Ransom Swerves

Alicia already had New Years’ Eve plans with friends and Ransom didn’t feel comfortable muscling in on that, but he kept a close eye on her feed, watching for signs of other men in the group. As far as he could tell, she wasn’t interested in any of them, though some of them in the pictures showed interest in her. With that in mind, he ramped up the messaging and even upgraded to a couple of calls, entertaining her with his attempts at phrases from the phrase book. She laughed and corrected him and he memorized as many things about her as he could.

He also kept on calling Marta at the house, managing to avoid Fran by timing his calls to be when she was making dinner and Harlan was still napping. Marta kept on calling him Hugo and he kept on meaning to bring it up but the words died in his throat. It was probably related to things he didn’t want to think about and he wanted to contemplate Marta knowing those things even less. Still, he liked hearing it.

Two weeks into the new year and his work paid off. Alicia’s message took him by surprise, but he didn’t waste the opportunity.

_> Hey, you busy tomorrow night?_

_> Not yet. Why? _

_> Wanna grab dinner? Want to talk about something._

_> Sure. Henry’s? At 7?_

It was a mid-market restaurant in the next town over, where they likely wouldn’t run into anyone they knew.

_> Sí. See you then, acere*._

He sent back a saluting gif and set about preparing. Looking through his wardrobe, he noted that he still had a few casual date outfits that were in style and fit. Nerves snaked through him. So much was riding on this. Biting his lips, he called Anita. It was evening, but he suspected she was still at work if her tired voice was any indication.

“Do guys still pull out chairs for girls?”

“Babe, this is pathetic, even for you. When was the last time you went on a date?”

He huffed. “I’m just brushing up. It hasn’t been that long.”

“Oh yeah? Remember where the clit is? That’s more important.”

“Ha, ha. I’m serious, I really like this one.”

“The sexy nurse?”

The room felt cold suddenly.

“Huh?”

She sounded like she was smiling. “That photo of you two at Christmas _was_ adorable.”

Now he remembered, Alicia had taken a dozen photos that night and one had included him and Marta. Meg had messaged him about it, jealous that he’d been invited but no one else had said anything; vaguely he wondered if any of them cared.

“No, her sister. Marta’s… she’s not-”

“Do you know which picture I’m talking about? The one where you’re looking at her like she hung the moon. I gotta be honest, sweetie, I didn’t know you had it in you.”

“I was not looking at her like that.” Ransom protested, though now his fingers itched to hang up and bring the damn thing up so he could check. “And she’s not interested anyway. I’m going on a date with Alicia, do you have any tips or not?”

Anita hummed but didn’t press, instead suggesting. “Just be interested in what she has to say, everything else is just window dressing.”

He’d already gathered that from his research so nodded. “Okay. Uh, thanks.”

She sighed quietly and made him curious. “You alright?”

“Hmm, me? Just trying to finish looking over this contract before a meeting tomorrow. Anderson was helping me but he decided to fuck off to see his mistress so, it’s just me.”

“Sounds like a prick.”

“He is!” She insisted, almost childlike in her exhaustion.

“You should throw him under the bus. Write a mistake in his handwriting and point it out tomorrow, get him yelled at.”

Anita laughed huskily.

“You’re evil. And that is an incredibly tempting suggestion.” She sighed again. “But I care too much about this client.”

“Next time.” She hummed in agreement and he told her. “Just finish it and get to bed.”

“Aye, aye.” She snarked and then hung up.

He immediately opened Instagram and got up the photo in question. He and Marta were sitting on the tiny sofa together and Marta was reading the author’s inscription in her present from him. He hadn’t really looked at himself in the photo and…well, sure he was _smiling_ but, he stared at himself, feeling odd. He looked happy. Pleased.

Pleased that his plan was working. That was it. Anita had mistaken his satisfaction with how things were going with genuine affection for Marta. That was it. His phone beeped. Anita had wished him luck on his date. Determinedly, he set out his clothes and went to bed.

He got to Henry’s a few minutes early to find Alicia waiting at a table. She looked nice; wearing a stylish dress with wing-tip eyeliner and color on her lips. They kissed each other on the cheek and he ordered a bottle of wine for them; she’d already read the menu and he wasn’t fussed about food so they ordered quickly. When the waiter moved away, she smoothed her hair down nervously.

“So I kind of had an ulterior motive for asking to see you.” She began and Ransom’s heart skipped a beat, though he schooled his expression.

“Okay.” He replied, waving a hand and drinking in her fluttering hands. This was it, this was the big turning point. He could literally taste the money…

“Okay, here goes.” And then she said. “I’m gay.” Ransom’s mouth dropped open.

For a minute, he was unable to process it. Then, the anger rushed in. It drowned out whatever else she was saying, coursing through his veins, white hot and unending. All that painstaking work, for nothing! Hours upon hours of carefully calculated conversations and listening to her talking and using up a favor for those damn concert tickets and she tells him this?!

“-say something?” He was pulled out of his internal yelling by her tentative voice; her expression a hair away from a wince. Gripped by the sudden urge to throw the table over, he barely managed to stay in his seat. “I’m sorry if you think I was leading you on. I swear I didn’t mean to, Marta said-”

At the mention of _her_ , Ransom’s brain kicked into gear and he choked out. “I’m not mad at you.”

Alicia stopped rambling, biting her lip, reminding him even more of Marta. Forcing himself a long breath out, he focused his mind. _This is still salvageable_ , he told himself. “I’m mad that you feel like you have to hide who you are.”

Feeling more in control, he took hold of one of her hands. “You are an amazing person and it doesn’t matter who you love.” Her eyes glinted in the light and he squeezed her hand gently. “I’m with you, no matter what.”

Squeezing his hand back, she blinked back tears. “Gracias, acere.”

He managed a reassuring smile, mind still racing. So Alicia was out as a potential partner; he could still court Marta. It wasn’t a setback, more like a course correction. He had already established a good relationship with both of them; now he just had to transition into a romantic one with Marta instead of Alicia. Hell, if he could fool Anita, it shouldn’t be too hard to fool everyone else.

“So Marta knows.” He confirmed, Alicia nodding. “And your mom?” Gulping, she shook her head. Rubbing the underside of her wrist soothingly, he held her gaze. “She’ll come around. She really loves you.”

“I know, I just, she’s so conservative about some things.”

“Well, we can work on her. Ease her into the idea.”

Alicia hung her head but nodded a little.

After a beat she looked up again. “Until we do, do you promise not to tell anyone? ¿No me vayas a dichabar?*”

He mimed sealing his lips. “Promesa*.”

She laughed a little wetly and smiled.

He talked a little with Marta the next day, asking her opinion on Marlene’s likely reaction. Marta sighed and confessed she wasn’t sure what it would be. Her praise of his support for her sister warmed his insides though it was nothing compared to his joy when she finally told him her phone number.

“So we can coordinate on helping Alicia.” She offered as an excuse, though knowing her maybe it wasn’t an excuse but the real reason. He thanked her and had to resist the urge to inundate her with messages immediately. Softly, softly.

...

Anita didn’t laugh at him when he told her about Alicia’s orientation, though it definitely sounded like she was smiling. She did offer to host them both for a weekend around their birthdays, which actually were only a week apart; an opportunity for Alicia to let down her hair, so to speak, though Ransom still puzzled over any other motivations apart from the joy of teasing him to his face.

As Anita only lived half a day’s drive away, in quite a cosmopolitan city with a healthy gay scene, Ransom drove him and Alicia up on Saturday afternoon after his Saturday morning appointments. The young woman was buzzing and insisted on playing Regaeton all the way there. Ransom forced himself to not complain, instead bopping his head along and occasionally asking for translations. All of the songs sounded shallow and trashy, but he did learn some good slang phrases and even sang along a few times.

They made it to Anita’s place in one piece and she greeted them as they came up the elevator. The women kissed each other on the cheeks; Ransom noted the bags under Anita’s eyes and how her long, dark braid was also beginning to look a little untidy.

“You’ve been working too hard, honey.” Ransom greeted mock-cheerfully.

She accepted his hug but patted his arm and replied condescendingly. “Someone has to pick up slack from the likes of you.” There was also fun in her voice though, so he just mimed being hit by an arrow as the women laughed. “Besides, you’ve been slacking on _your_ beauty routine.”

Alicia looked delighted. “Dude! Don’t tell me you moisturize too!”

Huffing, he shook his head and asked his ‘friend’. “You saying I look ugly now?”

It was true that he had stopped going to spas as often, or getting as many treatments done – Hell, he hardly had time to shop or get a decent haircut anymore.

“Hideous.” Anita grinned as she backed into the apartment; her dancing eyes taking any sting out of the joke. The conversation soon moved on: Alicia being impressed by the elegant place, Anita voicing her support of Alicia’s coming up and first gay night out, telling her a few stories about Ransom’s crazy exploits in the past.

“I’m more mature now.” He puffed up his chest.

Anita cackled. “This was like two years ago.”

Alicia pinched Ransom’s cheek and he had to lock his shoulders so as to not shove her off. Instead he rolled his eyes and went to raid Anita’s fridge. The women got ready for the night out, chatting about being second-generation immigrants and women of color.

“When I was a kid, I was so embarrassed by my mom, especially at the grocers.” Anita was saying at one point.

“Oh my God, same! Everyone would look at us and…” Alicia agreed, remembering with a wince. They had a brief debate about Indian vs. Hispanic families and who’d had stricter parents. Ransom felt very excluded but at the same time welcomed time to be left with his own thoughts and plan his strategy for the weekend.

In addition to being a supportive wingman for Alicia, he debated hooking up with someone to make Marta jealous against refraining and pretending to be lovesick. Anita already suspected he had feelings for his goal so if he could convince Alicia as well, it would definitely get back to Marta but most importantly, not from him directly.

Finally, the women were ready, in sexy but long-sleeved dresses – ‘it is still February, after all,’ Anita had intoned wisely. They met up with some of Anita’s friends whose names Ransom instantly forgot and whose attempts at conversation with him he mostly ignored. He had to remain focused on ensuring Alicia had a fun – but also safe – night and then he could worry about getting laid, or deliberately turning it down. 

Despite her outgoing nature, Alicia stuck close to him as they queued and then entered the club. She didn’t shy away from talking to the others but obviously felt more comfortable with Ransom – he was not _very_ smug about this. He bought her a drink and helped her scope out the place. Although she had experimented with other women, mostly at her community college, it had always been clandestine, quiet. This was the complete opposite and some of the looks she received seemed to make her nervous. Impatient with this, Ransom swigged some beer and took her by the elbow.

“Come on!” He walked her up to a pair of sophisticated but friendly looking women and smiled charmingly. Immediately countering their hostile stares by introducing Alicia – new member of the gay club – he supervised the interaction, contributing less and less the more confident she became. The women made their excuses politely but his charge didn’t seem discouraged. She squeezed his arm and announced she was ready to fly solo; his swallowed a protest and instead retreated to a corner where he could watch her surreptitiously. He got some odd looks and outright glares – a man alone in a lesbian club, go figure – until Anita found him.

“Hugging the walls?”

He raised his drink with a sarcastic eyebrow and she joined him, following his gaze to Alicia looking cozy with someone across the room. “How’s baby doing?”

“Fine.” He answered, feeling inexplicably annoyed.

Anita frowned. “What crawled up your ass?”

He took another pull and shrugged. “We going to a straight place or what?”

“You don’t want to play big brother anymore?”

Ransom’s brow furrowed and Anita patted his cheek, just grinning as he batted her hand away. “Awww, you didn’t even realize that’s what you were doing!”

“Shut up.” He countered weakly, though he couldn’t bring himself to stop tracking Alicia through the crowd.

“She’s a grown woman-” Anita began.

“-In a strange city.” He interrupted worriedly. “If something happens to her…” Anita didn’t say anything and he finally glanced at her. Her expression was thoughtful rather than mocking – which freaked him out even more.

“Shut up.” He muttered.

Luckily, Alicia appeared out of nowhere.

“Guys! I’m heading out with Danica!” She waved at a woman a few feet behind her, who nodded back. Ransom’s stomach twisted but he couldn’t think of a logical – or advantageous – argument so just shouted over the music.

“Be careful! And keep your phone with you!” 

Alicia shot him an ironic salute and left.

Anita bumped his shoulder. Come on! Your turn!”

After one last glance back, Ransom followed her out.

…

The next morning, Ransom woke up at some godforsaken hour and stared at the ceiling. The couch wasn’t exactly comfortable but he was warm under the heavy blanket and the room was quiet. He hadn’t drunken too much, sticking to beers, so although his brain felt tired, it didn’t ache. Instead he just felt kind of spaced out. It had been a long time since he’d partied and longer still since a night of drinking hadn’t led to athletic sex. Waking up alone was worse when you compared it to waking up with another warm body beside you.

Dark thoughts circled: he would never convince Marta to date him, let alone get married; Harlan would die before he could even try; someone would find out; fucking Fran would dig and expose him and crow like the hag she was. Sighing, he shifted onto his side, staring bleakly into the gloom. After a long moment, he reached for his phone, snatching it and quickly returning his arm under the blanket. Browsing through his various social media and inboxes, he tried not to anticipate…no, no one had messaged. Except! A message from Marta.

_> Looks like you had fun last night!_

She’d forwarded him a photo that Alicia must have sent her. It was from the line to get into the club, them plus Anita and her friends were huddled together in the frame, various smiles from cool to enthusiastic. It was just a normal group photo, no one was even drunk. Still, he supposed to the nun it looked positively sinful. Another message came through.

_> I think Alicia enjoyed it. _

Impulsively, he replied.

_> You should come next time._

There was a few minutes gap before she replied.

_> Not really my thing._

_> Marta, tell me you’ve been to a club before._

_> I haven’t._

He was tempted to ring her but couldn’t remember if she was working that morning or not. Instead he sent back.

_> This is a travesty! You have to go to at least one club in your life. Remind me to fix this asap_

She responded with a scared face emoji.

_> Please don’t! _

He laughed just as something buzzed. Anita emerged from her room looking worse for wear and stumbled over to the intercom. After grunting something, she pushed the button and yawned.

“Your sister-in-law is back.”

Ransom sat up and pulled on his discarded jeans, ignoring the comment. Alicia wandered in, still in the previous night’s clothes and with a lazy grin on her face. Anita made them all coffee, leaning against the countertop, the others sitting as Alicia told them about her night – sans naughty details. 

“How about you?” Alicia asked Ransom when she was done. “Did you get lucky?”

Ransom shrugged.

“Nah, didn’t feel like it.” He noticed Alicia’s eyebrow raise and asked warily. “What?”

“Anita was right; you do have a thing for my sister.” Not sure whether to be angry or pleased with that move, Ransom just narrowed his eyes at them both and huffed.

“Fine! Maybe I do like Marta a little.”

Alicia cooed and Anita snorted into her coffee. Ransom just ignored them and tried to perfect his bashful blush; shoulders coming up to his ears a little. He thanked his lucky stars that the women were already sold on the idea so would read into his behavior more. Anita’s presence wasn’t entirely welcome, however, as she represented another mind who could form a different opinion of the next part of the conversation.

“So?” Alicia demanded. “What are you waiting for?”

Not having to feign hesitation, Ransom explained. “You know my reputation.”

Alicia responded quickly. “Yeah, but you’re not really like that.”

 _How naïve you are_ , he thought. Anita tilted her head in consideration but didn’t argue.

Ransom swallowed. “You really think we’d work? I mean, _you know_ your sister.”

Anita sat down at the table and put down her mug decisively. “What’s she like? I need a complete picture.”

“Good.” Ransom supplied simply, having already thought about how he would describe her to other people.

Alicia nodded and added. “Honest. Like painfully honest-”

“-but still nice about it.” Ransom finished because there was a difference between being blunt and being earnest.

Anita was nodding as Alicia continued. “And clever. She did her nursing degree in like half the time as everyone else.”

Ransom frowned and murmured mostly to himself. “Huh, she never told me that.”

“So modest too.” Anita commented, staring at Ransom.

“What?”

Her lips curled up. “Just thinking, she’s like the exact opposite of you.”

Ransom huffed as Alicia bit her lip, eyes dancing.

Anita announced teasingly. “The amount of times you’ve bragged about doing something that everyone else has been doing for years.” Ransom leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms as she continued. “’Oh Anita! I’ve just washed my own clothes and didn’t ruin them!’”

Alicia cackled and despite himself, Ransom’s lips twitched upwards. “Yes, yes, very funny.”

Alicia laid a hand on his arm, smile warm. “Listen acere, I love my sister but she has been cloistered away for too long. You could take her out, get her back out there. It’d be good for both of you.”

Ransom blinked, he hadn’t considered that angle before, that he could do something for Marta; compliment her steady morality with some cheeky fun. His own plans had been so focused on acting more like her and expressing interest and traits she found attractive. This could work.

He looked to Anita who was nodding. “Sounds mutually beneficial.”

Ransom swallowed, turning his head back to Alicia and trying to ignore the way she was rubbing his arm affectionately.

“She’d never agree. Right?”

Alicia tapped her nose. “You just leave her to me, chico.”

The conversation moved on and plans were made to have lunch out, then a casual stroll around nice parts of the city before they drove home. Ransom found his mind wandering throughout the day, turning over possible scenarios and conversations in his head.

As they said goodbye to Anita, she kissed him on both cheeks and cupped his jaw with one hand. “I’m glad to see you doing better.”

He swallowed and squeezed her arm. “Thanks to you.”

She grinned. “Damn straight.”

He saluted, the women hugged and then he and Alicia were on their way home. The journey back was quieter, with Alicia on her phone a lot. As he finally pulled into her street, she sent him a sleepy smile.

“My sister will be in contact soon.”

He cleared his throat and nodded, not quite looking at her. She hopped out and he waited till she’d let herself in. Then he grit his jaw and drove on, nerves jangling.

The next day, he saw a message from Marta when he was taking his lunch break.

_> You free tomorrow night?_

_> Is this you or your sister?_

_> Me. I promise._

_> Then of course I am free._

_> Wanna get drinks at The Governor’s Arms?_

He stared at the message for a long moment, frozen for some reason. This was another step closer to his goal, he shouldn’t be hesitating. Taking a deep breath in, he replied.

_> Yes. How about dinner as well? 7pm?_

_> Sounds good, see you there._

He sent back a thumbs up emoji and put his phone away. Heart racing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Acere = a good friend  
> ¿No me vayas a dichabar? = You’re not going to betray me? (phrase usually used when you’re telling someone a secret, again, according to the internet)  
> Promesa = Promise. This is a literal translation of how an English-speaker would respond to the question. A Spanish-speaker would say something like: ‘te lo juro’ (I swear it to you).
> 
> Updates will slow down a little over the holidays, chapter 5&7 are mostly done but 6 is giving me trouble.  
> Thanks for reading!  
> :D


	5. Ransom's Heart

He was half an hour early. Feeling like an idiot, he paced around the car park, glad for the darkness to protect him from people looking out and seeing him. He was wearing his nice woolen sweater as advised by Alicia and had indulged in his long-forgotten hair and skin routine, getting a hair-cut, moisturizing his face and hands. He’d also considered getting waxed but had decided that Marta probably wasn’t used to that and that was getting ahead of himself anyway. About ten to seven he went in and was seated. Luckily for his nerves, he didn’t have to wait long.

Marta looked…wow, stunning. Her hair was down and slightly wavy, subtle make up on her eyes and lips. When she took her off coat, he could tell immediately that she was wearing one of Alicia’s dresses; it was short, only covering her leg to the mid-thigh, glittering slightly with a diagonal neckline leaving one shoulder bare. His mouth watered slightly and he had to clear his throat. He stood and they struggled through an awkward greeting dance, eventually managing to kiss each other on both cheeks. Good, Ransom thought, she doesn’t like too much polish. He cleared his throat again and they sat. Forcing his mind to focus – so he would win a sexier prize than he’d realized, he couldn’t afford to get distracted – they made small talk. Marta told him about what she’d done with Harlan that day and how Great Nana was walking by herself again.

“She’ll outlive us all.” Ransom commented and Marta smiled, though her eyes were sad.

He quickly changed the subject. “So, not to pry, but when was the last time you went on a date?”

She shot him a reproaching look.

“What?” He asked faux-innocently.

“None of your business.” She replied primly and he had to suppress a smile.

“I’ll tell you when mine was.” He offered but she ignored him, instead looking at the menu.

“Oooh, they have vegetarian burgers here.”

Ransom let it go, though he couldn’t resist saying. “It’s okay to be nervous.”

“I’m-” She began but managed to stop herself. He put down his menu, obnoxious grin on his face.

After narrowing her eyes at him, she glanced at the menu again. She closed it decisively and met his eyes; she really did look more beautiful than normal, though he wasn’t sure if it was the make-up or the determined look. He didn’t notice that they were essentially staring at each other until the waiter coughed politely beside the table. They ordered.

Ransom cleared his throat. “So I was thinking after this, if you want, we could go to Logan’s lake.”

She blinked. “It’s a little cold, don’t you think?”

He had to press his lips together to keep from cooing at the naivety. “I’ll give you a pass because you didn’t grow up here, but that’s not the reason people go there at night…together…in a car.”

It took a second but then cognition sparked in her face. “Oh, well.” She blushed and his heart-beat upticked.

Rubbing his thighs a few times he croaked. “We don’t have to-”

“Okay.” She interrupted, eyeing him shyly.

Relief pulsed through him and he smiled, adding quietly. “Just for a little while.”

The drinks arrived and she proposed a toast. “To new experiences!”

He echoed her and they drank.

“I suppose you’ve been there before.” She asked.

He shrugged. “Once or twice. But there must be stuff that you’ve done I haven’t.”

She huffed. “I doubt it.”

He asked in careful Spanish. “¿Besar un hombre español?*”

She covered her mouth, not quickly enough to hide her smirk. Ransom ignored that, insisting. “I am getting better though, right?”

She recovered enough to reply. “Un poco.”

He grinned. Then she held up her fingers a half-inch apart. “Un poquito.*”

Mock-gasping, he put his hands on his hips. “So cruel! How do you say that?”

She told him the translation of ‘cruel’ and he repeated it, acting even more offended when she laughed again.

“¡Mi corazón duele!*” He clutched at his chest and enjoyed her laughter. They did end up comparing bucket lists.

“Bungee jumping?” Ransom cried incredulously. “Really?”

Marta defended herself. “It looks exhilarating!”

Ransom rolled his eyes. “It looks like a good way to lose your lunch.”

Most of Marta’s things required money or travel though she did want to do intangible cute things like watch the sunset with her children. Ransom’s first choices were superficial but after his second glass of wine, he admitted to some simple, couple-y and domestic things.

“You’ve never picked fruit?”

He just raised an eyebrow in response to her question and she conceded how predictable that was for his upbringing.

Putting his knife and fork down he suggested. “Well, you should take me.”

She tilted her head in mock-consideration. He’d barely registered eating anything and when the waiter cleared the table he just wanted to leave. Fortunately, Marta felt the same as she shrugged when asked if she wanted dessert.

“Just the check.” Ransom ordered and insisted on paying, reasoning that Alicia would have his head if he didn’t.

Marta narrowed her eyes before saying airily. “I’ll pay next time.”

Ransom coughed and nodded. As they left, Ransom put an arm over her shoulder and she let him.

…

Marta had never been to the Lake before. In the darkness there wasn’t much to see beyond the sign and vague shapes in the distance but the stars really were beautiful. It was too cold to leave the heated car so she unbuckled and leant forward.

Her foot accidentally kicked the door and she winced. “Sorry! I know you must have worked hard to keep it.”

Ransom looked at her strangely for a moment before laughing a full body laugh. It was Marta’s turn to be confused until he explained through chuckles.

“It’s a replica. The insurance on the vintage one was too expensive so I sold it and got one that looks exactly the...” He looked over at Marta and after assessing her expression, shook his head. “You don’t care, do you?”

Marta opened her mouth but then laughed herself. “Sorry.”

He waved her apology away. “No, it’s…”

He pressed his lips together before beginning slowly. “Alicia said we’d be good for each other.” Marta felt her body tense, though not in a bad way. Ransom’s eyes seemed to shine as he continued. “She was right about me anyway. You make me better or,” he frowned, “want to be better.” He laughed self-deprecatingly. “This is a good example: not caring about stupid, rich people crap.”

“Well, I think not being rich anymore has more to do with that.” Marta dared to say.

Ransom’s eyes narrowed but then he leaned back, smiling slightly. “Is it weird that I like it when you’re mean to me?”

She sniffed airily and joked. “I was just being honest.”

His smile deepened and he sing-songed. “The cat has claws.”

Marta smiled back though as she looked at him, felt something else, something magnetic, pulling her towards him. She realized with a jolt that he was looking between her eyes and her mouth. Heart racing, she gathered her courage and leaned in. He met her halfway, hand cupping her cheek as their lips met. Warmth pulsed and a pleased hum vibrated through her; vaguely she registered his fingers clenching against her skin. It was an awkward angle so she pulled back, their lips smacking as they parted. Breathless, she looked up nervously but soon relaxed as Ransom pressed their foreheads together.

“Marta.” He whispered and she shivered in response. Leaning in closer he gently kissed the corner of her mouth. Eyes dropping closed she turned her head enough to join their mouths together again. They made out, gradually shifting so she was on his lap, wedged between him and the steering wheel. It was like being a teenager again, the contact was addictive, her whole body sensitive. She ground down on his groin, enjoying his grunt but was startled by a bright light shining in her face.

Squeaking, she bashed into the steering wheel and didn’t resist as he levered her up and back into her seat. Something knocked on the driver-side window and Ransom shot her a look, face flushed as he cleared his throat.

He wound down the window and said cheerily. “Hello officer! What can we do for you?”

Marta’s face burned and she looked vaguely in the cop’s direction, biting her lip.

“What are you folks doing out here?” The cop asked.

Ransom kept on answering casually. “Just taking in the sights. Lots of stars out tonight.”

Marta risked glancing at the man’s face and found him to be a middle-aged man, who looked stern but not arrogant.

He frowned at Ransom’s nonchalant answer. “Alright, well I’m afraid you’re not allowed to park here after dark.”

“We’re sorry!” Marta blurted and Ransom shot her a look before nodding along.

“I’m so sorry, officer. We didn’t know. We’ll be going now.” He sounded so sincere that Marta was a little taken aback.

The officer hummed but just said. “Drive safe.”

He walked back to his car and Ransom rolled the window back up, starting the ignition. It wasn’t until they were on the road leading away from the lake that he started chuckling.

Marta hit him on the arm even though relief opened up her chest. “It’s not funny!”

Ransom flashed her a grin. “It’s a little funny. Your face!”

She hit him again but his laughter was infectious and she couldn’t help but join in.

She added. “Well I can cross that off my bucket list.”

His delighted hum caused tingles to jump up and down her spine.

“So, what time is your mom expecting you?” He asked teasingly. She rolled her eyes but checked the time. It was almost eleven.

“About now?” He guessed, sounding disappointed. Or maybe Marta was projecting.

“I should get back.”

Ransom nodded and she had to add. “I had fun.”

He glanced at her, eyes searching; then he turned back to the road, lips turned up. “Me too. We should do this again sometime.”

“Yeah, I’d like that.” They reached the car park and before she opened the door, Marta leaned over and kissed his cheek. “Alicia was right about me too.” Then she hopped out and waved, taking a mental picture of his expression: soft brows, eyes shining with…longing? _Don’t get ahead of yourself_ , she thought. Bracing herself for the barrage of questions and teasing from her family, she drove home.

…

Together they crossed off more things from Marta’s list and a few from Ransom’s as well.

In March they bungee jumped, Marta screaming all the way down while Ransom filmed and snickered; they went ballroom dancing, Ransom teaching her the steps, and then they went to a club with Alicia and some friends, grinding and losing themselves to the music. They had more meals out, a mixture of greasy diners and upper-class places in the city, laughing and sharing their childhood memories, hopes and fears for the future.

Marta finally told Ransom about her father: how he’d hold her when she’d cry, sing her lullabies in a rusty voice; how he’d disappeared one day, as so many had. Ransom had held her hand over the table, looking as helpless as Marta had felt that day and ever since. In turn, Ransom talked about his relationship with his uncle; how he had been the only one to accept Ransom as he was – a scamp who just wanted to play and be left alone – how he’d argued with Linda about easing up the pressure on him. Reluctantly, Ransom had admitted just how hard he’d taken Neil’s death; expressing the anger and deep sadness through rebelling even harder, basically dropping out of college and antagonizing everyone as much as possible.

“Walt’s a dick, but I have given him more than enough grief over the years.” He admitted at one point, Marta squeezing _his_ hand.

In April they watched the rain running down the walls of Ransom’s strange glass house, snuggled together under blankets. Through enthusiasm and gentle teasing, Marta convinced Ransom that she really was comfortable with sex and they made gentle love to the sound of the rain. Just thinking about his solid presence above her, eyes drinking in her reactions to his light touches and shallow thrusts, made her shiver and spun her head a little. She’d expected him to be more eager, rough and well, selfish. Basically she’d expected him to fuck her; to thrust eagerly and deeply until he was done. The fact that he’d taken his time, kept his eyes on her face the whole time, like he was afraid she’d break, was both touching and frustrating. Part of her had been eagerly anticipating feeling him deep inside her, for the fire and passion. It felt a little churlish to complain though, especially as their romance had been so slow-burning and Ransom kept surprising her with how he’d changed. To think of how far he’d come in only two years; it was almost unbelievable. No, she could be patient.

In May they picked strawberries; weaving through the bushes and squealing children under the weak spring sun. Though she could tell the children annoyed him, Ransom kept any opinions on the tiny bodies running around them to himself, instead taking her hand and leading her away. They found an area of their own and grinning impishly, Ransom stuck a strawberry in her face, insisting she try it. Her disapproving frown didn’t deter him as he waggled it enticingly. Sneaking a look around, she leaned in and took a bite. Juice exploded around her mouth and she heard him laughing as she struggled to shove the rest in her mouth and wipe her face. Hiding behind Ransom, she hit him with one arm as the other hunted for a tissue in her jean pocket. Still laughing, he handed her one and she glared even as she cleaned her lips and chin.

“You’re horrible.” She grumbled.

His eyes danced and he affected an innocent expression. Rolling her eyes, she straightened and walked away with as much dignity as she could.

“Marta.” Ransom said suddenly. She turned and he just stared at her, jaw hanging open slightly.

She frowned. “Is there more strawberry around my mouth?”

He visibly swallowed before smiling awkwardly. “No. Nothing.”

Now that was a lie. He coughed and said. “I think there’s some nice ones over here.”

Though she was still suspicious, she let it go. She figured he’d tell her when he was ready.

A few days later, the passionate lover she’d been waiting for emerged and he was almost exactly as she’d imagined except more considerate. He buried his head between her legs and made her cum again and again and again. After she’d recovered, she’d insisted on reciprocating and had loved hearing the little hitches in his breath turning into deep-throated groans.

In June Ransom came around for dinner at the Cabrera’s again, Marlene both excited and wary. She didn’t give him a shovel talk, but some pointed comments made it very clear that he shouldn’t mess with her daughter. Marta had been embarrassed but Ransom had taken it very seriously, promising to not to hurt her. It had made feel Marta warm inside and she’d asked herself how she felt about him in general.

When Alicia had asked her how the experiment in letting loose was going, she couldn’t answer. She wasn’t sure what her relationship with Ransom was, just that she wanted it to continue.

…

In July Harlan invited Ransom to stay for the weekend. Nervously, he accepted. Harlan had been suspiciously quiet about Ransom dating Marta. In fact, he hadn’t mentioned it at all. Ransom hadn’t either, but he doubted Marta could have kept it a secret. Whilst the old man might not have had the actually gall to ask her outright, he was still observant so could have figured it out from Marta’s behavior. Not that Ransom thought that highly of his dick or anything. If Meg knew (and had cooed at him through emojis and gifs) then Harlan must. Through their biweekly phone chats, Ransom had noticed Harlan getting a little slower, more forgetful and shorter tempered. Either he was waiting for Ransom to reveal his hand or for Marta to wise up and dump him, or maybe he’d decided he was too tired to care?

As to Ransom’s plan, outwardly it was going swimmingly but inside his head it was a mess. He’d been feeling odd for a long time but it wasn’t until the strawberry fields that he’d realized why. Seeing Marta in the sunlight, her face lit up with joy, the fruity smell in the air; his heart had swelled and he’d thought. _God, I love her._ He’d almost said it too, only managing to catch himself at the last second. It had been a struggle to keep his confusion hidden from her. This had _not_ been in the plan but he couldn’t see a way around it. So he actually cared about her, that would arguably make it easier to get her to agree to marry him. Except…

Now he actually cared, the fear of hurting her had only grown. Now he knew what being in a relationship with Marta was like: he didn’t just want it to work so he’d get the inheritance, he wanted _the relationship_. He wanted Marta. He _loved_ Marta. Dread filled him and in the middle of the night, he’d contemplate all the ways he could lose everything.

Seeing Harlan in person confirmed that his grandfather was indeed showing his age more; Ransom’s stomach curdled a little and he tried to not focus on the shaking hands or bags under his eyes. Marta was there in the morning but Great Nana’s nurse would take care of Harlan’s afternoon and evening care so she said goodbye around lunch. She only nodded to Ransom in front of Harlan but Ransom walked her to the front door and received a lingering kiss for his trouble. When she was gone, Ransom thought he caught a glimpse of the toad lurking in another room, but decided he didn’t care. Instead he returned to Harlan and they spent a nice time discussing the rest of the family and playing card games.

After dinner, Harlan beckoned Ransom into his main study and his grave expression was all Ransom needed to know he was going to be called out.

“I may be on my way out, my boy.” Harlan declared conversationally. Rationally, Ransom could only agree, but the words stuck in his throat. Harlan continued. “You know it, I know it, even Marta knows it, though she’s too sweet to acknowledge it.” He lowered himself into his chair and sighed. “She’d pump me with drugs for years to come if she had her way. Get me a drink, would you?”

Ransom did, pouring himself a generous glass as well. He handed Harlan his glass and sat down opposite him.

Harlan took a sip and looked Ransom dead in the eye. “I’m old, but I’m not blind. I can see what you’re doing with Marta.”

Ransom drank as well before leaning back in his chair. “And?”

The wrinkles on Harlan’s face deepened but he replied evenly. “You can’t expect to marry her without a pre-nup – if she even agrees to wed you in the first place.”

Ransom tilted his head, willing himself calm. He’d mostly put aside his anger at Harlan’s abrupt ruling to deny him his inheritance, and yet…

“You think I got a shot?”

Harlan harrumphed but didn’t deny it. Leaning on his elbows, he explained. “I think you have a chance at convincing her to keep you in the fold after she inherits, providing you can sustain this act.”

Ransom’s jaw clicked and his teeth ground together. After a long breath out, he added. “And providing you don’t tell her.”

Harlan eyed him silently a moment before almost shrinking into himself. “I considered all the angles, all the variables, and having you by her side would be better than having you as an opponent.”

Ransom took a moment to let that sink in. His grandfather sighed and took another sip, wincing at the kick of the alcohol.

“Hold on,” Ransom began, “you approve of this?”

Harlan snorted derisively. “No, not at all, but I would rather you be with her dishonestly than rob her of an ally. It won’t be long now.”

Guts squirming, Ransom put his drink down on the desk with a little too much force. “Don’t say that.” He muttered.

The old man huffed. “Sorry I’m not dying to your schedule. When would be most convenient for you?”

Ransom snapped. “You shouldn’t joke about it.”

Harlan’s eyes narrowed as Ransom drank some more and then stared moodily into the glass.

More seriously, Harlan said. “If I promise to make it to my birthday, will you do something for me?”

Ransom shrugged and agreed. “Yeah, sure, why not?”

As Harlan told him what it was though, he fervently wished that he hadn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t actually know if the beamer in the film is vintage or new, I just liked the idea of him keeping up appearances and Marta not giving a shit.  
> *“Besar un hombre español” = “To kiss a Spanish man.” Again, Ransom’s ignorance is showing here, he didn’t conjugate the verb and he should have said ‘hombre hispánico’ or ‘hombre cubano’, though I suppose Marta could have met a guy from Spain that’s not what he means. Although it says something about him that he’s just started learning Spanish and ‘kiss’ is a verb he’s already learned, no?  
> *“Un poco” = “A little”; “Un poquito” = “A little (smaller than ‘poco’)” (in Spanish you add ‘ito/ita’ to make something smaller, it’s why girls called ‘Ana’ might have the nickname ‘Anita’ etc. What suffix makes things bigger you ask? ‘ón’ Silla = chair; Sillón = armchair).  
> *Mi corazón duele = my heart hurts. This sounds like something a patient might say to their doctor. A better phrase is “Me rompes el corazón” = “you’re breaking my heart”.  
> I wasn't joking when I said I was obsessed with the movie, I'm going again tomorrow! Will hopefully help me finish chapter 6.  
> Happy Holidays and thanks for reading!  
> :D


	6. Enter Mr. Blanc Or Ransom's Promise

In September, Walt’s company went under and he filed for bankruptcy. He sold their remaining house and all of three of them moved into Harlan’s mansion after Donna’s family proved to be useless. Donna was still working as an accountant for a multinational corporation and Jacob was in his last year of the elite high school he was somehow still attending. Ransom suspected that their savings had probably been drained to pay the last of the tuition, or maybe some kind of favors had been exchanged. In any case, no one was happy with the arrangement though Harlan had deigned to let them stay. Marta tried to focus on the family-first aspect and find goodness in it all; though having Jacob the alt-right troll in close proximity was not pleasant for her.

After Marta had asked Ransom seriously if maybe _she’d_ done something to offend Jacob, and that’s why he looked at her that way, Ransom had driven out and cornered the little shit. There hadn’t been any threats of violence, beyond towering over the kid and flexing his muscles, but Ransom had made it clear that Marta was part of the family and any disrespect shown to her was disrespect not only to Harlan but to Ransom as well. The pipsqueak had fallen over himself to agree to be respectful and Ransom had warned him that he’d be watching to make sure.

Whether or not the boy told mommy and daddy about it was never confirmed as they didn’t bring it up; though Walt gave Ransom the stink eye whenever he went over to hang out with Harlan and sneak kisses from Marta when she should have been working. Walt had always looked at Ransom like he was shit on his shoe, so nothing had really changed.

Alicia had been busy with her college work and sneaking off to see her girlfriend but she and Ransom still talked occasionally. She’d congratulated him on not messing up with Marta so far and sometimes made suggestions for things he could do introduce her to. Interestingly, he’d noticed that Meg had started following Alicia and had commented on some of her photos. When she drove down to Harlan’s one weekend, Ransom visited as well and lightly interrogated her about her motives.

“Things are just a bit shit at home right now.” Meg had offered moodily when he’d asked. Apparently Joni had been going even further to please her patron and the lengths had disgusted her only daughter. “At least he doesn’t have any spawn I have to compete with.” Meg spat out bitterly.

Ransom, unsure what to say, offered. “She’s doing this because she loves you. Sometimes we have to do things we don’t want to.”

“Life sucks.” Meg muttered and Ransom frowned.

“Hey.” He opened his arms and after a moment of consideration, Meg went in for a hug. “You can always crash with me if you need a break.”

She thought about this for a moment before murmuring. “Thanks.”

He smiled, even though she couldn’t see it.

His parents still existed, that was about as much as he heard about them until Thanksgiving. Walt seemed too depressed to bait Ransom that time, so apart from the usual politic spats, there weren’t any massive fights or dramas.

That night they slept in their bed in Ransom’s house; Marta had bashfully suggested he get normal sheets as the silk ones had been strange for her and ever since he had, he’d playfully called it ‘their bed’. He’d even bought a couple of cutesy pillows for her. Marta had blushed, but not corrected him. And she used the pillows. Before they’d dropped off, Ransom had casually brought up the idea of having children, asking if Marta wanted them.

She’d rolled over onto her side, head on her upturned palm. “In general, or with you?”

His stomach churned at the question and he joked weakly. “There’s a different answer?”

Unmoved, she explained. “I’m just trying to figure out what you’re really asking.”

Well, honesty was the best policy. “I want to know if maybe one day you…you’d like to have children with me.”

In response, she bent down and kissed him on the lips. Breaking away she whispered. “Sí, mi amor. Nuestros hijos serían amados tanto.”

Insides feeling almost empty, he kissed her back and added. “Ellos serían inteligentes y _buenos_.”

They made love again and as he was falling asleep afterwards, Ransom made a note to up his payments into his secret engagement ring fund.

Harlan’s 87th birthday party rolled around, noticeably more fraught and tense than the one two years previous. Ransom spent most of it being worried about Walt, who had been sulking and desperate before but now appeared more clear-minded, at peace. Something was going on, he had some plan for getting back on top. Ransom also caught him staring at Marta. This was doubly worrying and he kept as close an eye on Walt’s family as he could the whole night. So much so that he hardly registered what everyone else was doing. Fran’s glare was too strong to miss, but Ransom just ignored her. He was so preoccupied that he missed Harlan going to bed. Lying in his bed in the house, he rolled over. No matter, there’d be time to talk to him the next day.

Ransom’s first indication that something was wrong was waking up and realizing Marta hadn’t said goodnight. They’d decided to keep things neutral whilst the house was full of nosy and racist relatives, but he’d expected her to sneak in to his room for a quick goodbye at least. He lay in bed in the early morning light, staring at the ceiling. Harlan’s unofficial deadline had passed and he still had to convince Marta to marry him. Sighing, he sat up and rubbed his face. Maybe he’d take her out after she finished work that day, bring up their future plans, see how amenable she was to… He almost laughed at himself, ‘how amenable she was to spending the rest of her life with him’? Was that how he should put it? He curled his lip and threw back the covers.

The sound of Fran shouting floated into his room and his insides disappeared.

…

Linda was talking to the police and the coroner; Robert was on the phone to someone, Donna was alternating between dabbing at her eyes and consoling Fran as Ransom held a distraught Meg. He was about to duck out to find where Walt was lurking when Jacob sloped in.

The boy glanced around nervously. “Where’s the detective?”

“Talking with auntie Linda. Why, darling?” Donna answered.

Jacob swallowed and Ransom’s stomach dropped even before the little snot said anything. “I don’t think it was a suicide.”

Hatred for Walt welled up inside him and he barely registered letting go of Meg, trying to control his breathing. Richard came back into the room.

“What’s this?” He demanded confusedly.

Jacob licked his lips. “This wasn’t like grandpa.”

“Sweetie,” Donna began sympathetically, “sometimes people get low and do stupid things, it happens.”

“Yeah, he was-” Richard began, before looking around at the grandchildren, “getting on. That can take its toll.”

“But what if he didn’t?” Jacob insisted and Ransom was disturbed to see Meg look thoughtful. “What if someone talked him into it?”

“Like your dad?” Ransom blurted. Jacob blinked owlishly.

“How dare you! Walt would never!” Donna jumped in. Linda and Walt entered.

“You wouldn’t hurt grandad, would you uncle Walt?” Meg asked anxiously before anyone else could say anything.

Walt frowned and Jacob piped up. “Ransom called you a murderer!”

Suppressing the urge to wrap his hands around the kid’s neck, Ransom ground out. “That’s not what I said.” He had to raise his voice to be heard over Jacob’s retort. “l was pointing out how stupid your idea was!”

There was some more shouting before Linda called for order and got the story from Richard, Donna huffing and Jacob looking sullen. Walt looked offended but also a little overwhelmed, putting a hand on Jacob’s shoulder. Meg started crying again, though Joni had come in and took over comforting her. Ransom went to find Marta, telling her he’d be back and to call if anyone started harassing her.

“Why would they do that?” She asked hoarsely, lower lip trembling.

He wiped her cheek and swallowed down the thorns in his throat. “Because they’re mourning and Jacob’s an idiot.”

Then he left. Converting the engagement ring money into bribe money to get Benoit Blanc’s contact details was a blow and Ransom had had to pep-talk himself into it. The news had broken online but there weren’t any paper copies out yet. Feeling a bit unromantic, he went to the nearest internet café, wired Blanc’s account the remains of his savings, created an email address and sent Blanc a link to the news article, with four words in the subject line.

Once it was ready to send he hovered the mouse over the send button. If he did this, he’d be inviting an unknown, uncontrollable factor into the mix. He’d lose his advantage; he could lose everything. Again, Marta’s eyes came back into his head but this time they were looking at him groggily after being woken by the sun, sparkling under harsh diner lights; half-closed in pleasure, twinkling as she laughed. He clicked send and shut everything down, returning to the house as quickly as he could. He needed to stay as close to Marta, and Walt, as possible.

…

Everyone seemed to have let go of the sabotage idea but Marta still feared it would rear its ugly head again. Even though no names – except Walt’s – had been thrown around, she felt uneasy. Meg and Jacob had given her a few odd looks from across the room and then there was Ransom’s cryptic comment. The implication that the family would turn on her…Did he know? Or was he just anticipating how his family thought? God, she hated it.

She had only slept in fits and bursts since that night, wishing Ransom was holding her but also glad she wouldn’t have to watch what she said around him. The question turned over and over in her mind: could she trust him? Her heart said yes but in his last moments, Harlan had insisted she tell no one – not even Ransom. Eyes welling up again, she turned over and hugged herself; she was trapped in a nightmare and she couldn’t wait to escape.

The wake was somber but most everyone managed to keep their composure. Ransom had been very tense and almost completely silent when he’d come to pick her up in the morning; but once they’d been there a while he relaxed a little. Harlan had been embalmed and a neckerchief was tied over the wound. Marta still shuddered to see him – the spray of blood haunting her mind’s eye. A large hand laid gently on her shoulder, Ransom’s scent revealing his identity before she turned to look at him. His eyes were soft, brows pulled slightly together.

“You…?” He started before trailing off. “Stupid question. Do you want some air?” Wordlessly, she nodded and followed him out to their spot. Uncaring of being observed, he wrapped her in his arms and held her close. She relaxed for the first time in days, leaning against him gratefully.

“We’ll get through this.” He whispered into her hair. “No matter what.”

Heart shredding itself, she sniffed, blurting. “It’s my fault.”

He froze and she closed her eyes in anticipation of the end, of losing the second best thing to ever happen to her. But he didn’t let her go, instead rubbing her back soothingly. “Did you want him to die?”

“No!” She burst out, pushing back and looking him in the eye. “I would never do anything to hurt him, not on purpose.”

For some inexplicable reason, he smiled gently and stroked her cheek. “I know. That’s why whatever happened isn’t your fault.”

“You…know?”

“Not exactly and if he made you promise not to tell then I won’t push you but Marta, nothing you could say would convince me it was your fault.” He wiped her cheeks gently with his thumbs – she hadn’t even realized that she’d been crying.

“I love you.” She said and his breath hitched, eyes wide.

“I love you too.” He rasped and bent down to kiss her tenderly. Heart spasming, she scrabbled to pull him closer and he obliged – one hand splayed across her back, another tangling in her hair. They stayed like that a long time, until they broke apart to breathe.

“I’m here for you.” He whispered, bringing her in close to him again. “I won’t let them take you away.” Relief and warmth rushing through her, she could only hold on to him gratefully.

…

The next day the police came back with Benoit Blanc. Ransom caught a glimpse of him as he got out of the car outside. Sitting down on his bed again, Ransom had to do some breathing exercises and pull his hair for a few minutes before calming down enough to go downstairs. He could not afford to let slip that he was the one who’d hired the man, nor that he knew of Marta’s inheritance. The detective was obviously very sharp and observant; Ransom would have to be on high alert without seeming like it. His act would have to be flawless. _Just focus on Marta_ , he told himself. _You can be so sure she’s innocent because you love her, not because of what you know_.

Walking down the stairs, he forced himself to concentrate on what his family was doing. He hadn’t heard any squeaking of the stairs to the den and the loose rung of the trellis was still intact. He’d noticed that one had been broken off before, so no one else had gone into Harlan’s den since that night. So Walt hadn’t been in again, Ransom thought darkly as he overheard his mother complaining about the police wanting to question them all again.

He let her go first, trying to keep Marta and Meg calm in the meantime. One by one they went in, the atmosphere tense and everyone tight lipped.

As they heard Meg coming back, Ransom kissed Marta’s forehead and whispered. “Just tell them what he told you.”

She nodded tearfully and he went into the lion’s den. Benoit Blanc was sitting in the shadows like a true drama queen. Ransom acted uninterested by his presence and answered Lieutenant Elliot’s questions as flippantly as he could without straying into psychopath territory.

“Were you close with your grandfather?” Well, that was a complicated question all on its own.

He sighed. “He was an asshole, a stubborn old goat, but I guess I’m an asshole too so,” he shrugged, “we got on fine.”

“How did you take it when he cut you out of the Will?”

Pursing his lips, Ransom answered. “I was angry, sure, but that was two years ago. We made up.”

“He didn’t give you any indication that he might reverse his decision?” Ransom leaned back in his chair, trying to guess who’d fed them that idea.

Shaking his head, not having to fake his disgust, he just replied firmly. “Once Harlan made his mind up about something, nothing and no one could change it.”

“What about everyone else? How did they get on with Harlan?”

“The same I guess – there aren’t any nice people here. Well, except for Marta and Meg, most of the time.”

“Marta Cabrera, the nurse?” Ransom nodded.

Blanc finally spoke. “And what is your relationship with her?” The southern accent surprised Ransom.

He blinked and asked Elliot. “Your boss is the KFC man?”

Elliot snorted. “He’s not my boss. Mr. Blanc is here as an observer on the behalf of a clie-”

“A Private Detective.” Ransom interrupted, head snapping to Blanc. “Let me guess, you received a letter in the mail. Harlan asking you to investigate his death,” he shook his head and laughed bitterly, “that would be like him. If he planned this-”

“I’m afraid I cannot discuss my client.” Blanc waved a dismissive hand. “The question, good sir.”

“Marta and I are dating.” Ransom answered shortly.

Blanc leaned forward in his chair. “And uh, is this is a recent coupling? Say, within the last two years?”

Damn the toad! He huffed a bitter laugh. “You’ve been talking to the housekeeper. Well, I’ll tell you what I told her: Harlan doesn’t change- _didn’t_ change his mind. Ever. I’m not with Marta to get back into his good books.”

The detective’s sharp eyes didn’t give anything away.

Letting a little emotion shine through, Ransom admitted. “She actually cares about people as people, not as tools to get what you want. She was Harlan’s nurse but she was his friend too. Maybe the only real one he had; she didn’t want anything from him.”

He closed his mouth before he went too far. A quick glance showed the police as convinced but Blanc’s lips just tightened. Ransom’s jaw twitched. He hadn’t actually been lying. Blanc shifted in his chair, expression still guarded. The detectives made him run through his movements the night of the party and then Blanc asked him.

“What’s your take on how Harlan died?”

“You mean do I suspect foul play?” Ransom considered, wondering how much to reveal of what he knew to be true. “People say ‘he’s not the suicidal type’ but that’s bullshit, anyone can get depressed. Hell, he was 87, in pain, it’s possible he got fed up and wanted out. Do I think someone would kill him?” He sighed and rubbed the back of his head, continuing slowly. “He’s snubbed and cut some of us out but only one person has failed to bounce back.”

Blanc didn’t hold back. “You’re referring to Walt.”

Not wanting to overstate it, Ransom spread his hands out. “It’s not a secret that we hate each other’s guts, but he’s been getting more and more desperate for a while now. Then suddenly at the party all his worries have disappeared? He doesn’t complain all night? Something changed. Something he didn’t want to tell anyone else about.”

Blanc huffed. “You sound like quite the detective yourself.”

Offended by the condescension, Ransom sneered. “We done here?”

The detectives exchanged glances before Elliot confirmed. Ransom stalked out and smoothed out his expression to reassure Marta before she went in. Everyone else had left so he wandered around outside for a while, watching the dogs running around.

Later, Marta came back into his arms.

“He wants me to help him with the investigation.” She admitted worriedly, looking sick – though he surmised ‘sick with worry’ as opposed to ‘sick through lying’. Well, it figured that the detective would focus on Marta due to her unusual trait and considering what Ransom wrote in the email.

“Good, he trusts you. We can keep it that way.”

As Marta followed Blanc around, Ransom kept a close eye on Jacob and Walt; lurking in the next room and pretending to mess around his phone as he strained to hear them saying anything. Things were frustratingly quiet so he just had to trust that Blanc would ferret out the truth.

…

The lawyer came the next day. Ideally, Ransom would settle in for a very entertaining blow up; enjoy watching his greedy and entitled relatives gasp and clutch their chests in disbelief before exploding into self-righteous anger. Ransom was not so un-self-aware that he couldn’t recognize he’d been like that or…was still a little like that. Alas, he was very tense, awaiting the moment everyone would turn on Marta; hounding her relentlessly and trying to tear her down to reclaim their money. Affecting a nonchalant pose, he kept an eye both on her and the detective. When Elliot insisted they all stay in town, his heart beat picked up, though he kept his face relaxed. Eyes sliding over everyone else, he saw Jacob going a little green, Walt’s grip too tight on his shoulder? His face was stony enough. Meg looked on the verge of tears again – did she ever run dry? The adults just looked annoyed or confused and Ransom couldn’t consider any of them pissed off enough to get their hands dirty. Not yet anyway.

The lawyer read Harlan’s letter and Ransom had to contain his snort: wasn’t that a Band-Aid for an open wound if he’d ever heard one? Then the dreaded words and the shocked silence. He chanced a glance at Marta, taking in her confusion, her hands beginning to shake.

“So you _did_ poison him!” Joni blurted. The whole room took in a breath, holding it as Marta looking between the family, mouth hanging open.

Ransom stood and hardly recognized his own voice as he growled. “That is _not_ true.”

“This isn’t happening.” He heard Walt mutter incredulously.

Linda stood up, finger pointing at Marta. “Did you know about this?”

“No!” She insisted.

The others began to stand up too so Ransom moved over to her, saying firmly. “There! She can’t lie, so back off!”

Joni threw her hands up as Meg’s face crumpled and she dashed out of the room. Ransom put a hand on Marta’s shoulder, angling his body so as to hide her from most of their view.

“Let’s get out of here.” He said to her gently.

She looked up at him tearfully, stammering. “I didn’t know.”

He ushered her out, reassuring her as the relatives began shouting again. “I know, it’s alright, let’s go.”

They went past the stunned detectives, though Ransom didn’t look at Blanc’s face. Shepherding Marta to the front door, Ransom winced as he saw Meg crying on the front steps. No way Marta wouldn’t see her and…sure enough he felt Marta look up and tense.

“Meg?”

The girl turned around, eyes puffy and face red; she wailed. “Why are they being so horrible?”

Hearing voices getting louder behind them, Ransom suggested. “Gotta keep moving if we wanna get out of here.”

Marta glanced back and blanched, though she looked down again at Meg worriedly. “Come on, in the car.”

Ransom helped Meg up and directed them both into the sensible car he’d bought the month before.

Joni appeared like a nightmare at the passenger side window.

“What’s your insta? I’ll follow you!” She told Marta.

Ransom looked past her and saw the whole horde of them spilling out of the front door. He started the car and revved the engine, keeping an eye on the banshee as he pulled away. Thankfully they made it without anyone being run over, though Ransom would not have turned a hair at doing that if he’d had to.

The car was quiet; everyone lost in their own thoughts. Although he itched to offload Meg, Ransom knew that Marta wouldn’t hear of it, so he resigned himself to having her tag along. He had a good idea of what had really happened that night and didn’t want Meg also getting that information.

Food and drink. That’s what they all needed.

…

Marta seemed to barely register getting out of the car or sitting down at the table. Ransom ordered for them and gently encouraged the women to eat. Meg had seemed to have recovered her composure and ate some, telling Marta to do the same.

“What happened, Marta?” Meg asked insistently.

“Meg-” Ransom interrupted but Marta held up a hand.

“No, I owe you both the truth.” Ransom bit his tongue, unable to think of a way to stop her without revealing what he knew. Then she was telling them everything and it hit Ransom like a freight train: she’d given him the right medicines after all! If she’d only noticed after the fact, she must have grabbed the right ones automatically and only ‘realized’ once she’d read the labels. The switch had been cancelled out purely by accident.

Just managing to reign in his laugh at the good news, he looked down at the table until his breathing evened out. Once he was ready, he lifted his gaze again and found Marta’s eyes. God, she was so anxious, so scared.

Before he could speak though, Meg looked at her phone and said. “It’s my mom.”

“What did she say?” Ransom demanded.

“Hugo.” Marta admonished him gently and he leaned back, pressing his lips together.

Meg shot him a wary look before reading aloud. “The family is requesting an analysis of Harlan’s blood. Mom thinks, they’ll find depressants.”

“It won’t be too far off.” Marta intoned blankly and Ransom’s heart clenched; he swallowed down the urge to tell her that she was actually innocent. It would be safer to just wait for the lab results to prove her innocence. In the meantime, he’d just have to assure her she wasn’t alone.

He grabbed her hand, squeezing as he told her quietly. “Marta. No es tu culpa.” Her eyes welled up and Ransom ignored Meg staring at them. “Estoy aqui, te lo juro*.”

After a moment, Meg cleared her throat and asked. “So, what are we going to do about the tox report?”

“When will it be done?”

“I don’t know.”

Great, now Ransom had to ensure it safely reached the police whilst pretending to prevent it. “I’ll go and ask when it’ll be ready, maybe-”

“No.” Marta said firmly. Both Ransom and Meg stared at her. “Neither of you are going to do anything. We will let them finish the report and then the family will see it.”

“But your mom…” Meg reminded her.

Marta swallowed. “I will deal with that if the time comes.”

“We can help you.” Meg offered immediately and Ransom nodded, holding Marta’s gaze.

She smiled weakly. “Thank you, both of you. It means a lot.”

Meg squeezed Marta’s hand. “Of course. No matter what they say, you’re one of us.”

Later, once he’d dropped Marta at home and Meg back at the house, Ransom went to his room and called the lab, checking on the report’s progress. He was told it would be released to the family and police in the morning. The rest of the evening he kept an eye on Walt and Jacob, though neither seemed to be up to anything. Ransom retired to his room after Walt settled in, though stayed up long after everyone else went to bed, listening out for any movement. Harlan’s voice echoed in his head and he prayed that he wouldn’t be forced to uphold his promise.

…

He did sleep eventually and when he woke at dawn, found a blank envelope pushed under his bedroom door. Inside was the header of the tox report and a note telling him ‘I know what you did’ and to meet in town. He frowned. Who…? He rolled his eyes: Fran. She probably thought he’d convinced Marta to poison Harlan. Well, no matter, once everyone saw the tox report both of their innocence would be proven. He called the lab again but couldn’t get through. It probably wasn’t open yet. He’d try again in a half an hour. Tap, tap, tap. After a moment, he realized what that sound was. His foot was tapping on the floor: tap, tap, tap, t- He got dressed quickly and drove over to the lab.

He saw the smoke and reflected lights from the fire trucks before he saw the actual building. Coming to a stop around the side of the lab, he watched the fire fighters working to put out the low flames and tried to fight the overwhelming despair.

Wait! Fran! For once she’d done something useful! He turned the car around and raced to the address in the blackmail letter. All he had to do now was convince her to give him the report. He grit his jaw – whatever price she demanded, he’d have to pay it.

An abandoned launderette, how not-creepy. As he entered, Fran began her scathing – or what _she_ considered scathing – speech about how she knew he was evil, blah, blah. It was pathetic really, how little her scorn affected him. He walked closer and she began to tremble.

“Don’t come any closer!”

He stopped walking, hands still in his pockets. “You got the report?”

She took it out of her jacket pocket and he noticed the medical bag on the floor beside her.

Angrily, he bit out. “What do you want?”

Recovering her breathing a little, she demanded. “I want you to apologize, for all the years of shit, the disrespect you’ve shown me! You think you’re such a big shot! So much better than everyone else. Well you’re not.”

He knew it had been coming but he still had to take a deep breath before intoning. “Fran. I apologize, from the bottom of my heart for all the disrespect I’ve shown you over the years.” She was still staring at him warily so he continued reluctantly. “You didn’t deserve any of it and I am deeply sorry.”

Her jaw worked as she nodded, before blurting. “And one million dollars.”

“I don’t have that much.”

“Then no report!”

“Wait!” He sighed. “If you give me the report, then-” CRASH!

The sound of breaking glass interrupted him and he only had time to see a small shape arch onto the floor before fire exploded next to them. Fran shrieked and Ransom backed away from the blaze instinctively holding up an arm against the hot stuff. What the Hell? He glanced at the exit but then remembered, the report.

Grabbing Fran, he demanded. “The report!”

She was coughing. “I dropped it!”

In disbelief, he snapped his head around only to see the paper curling up into a blackened mess and the medical bag also engulfed in flames; more glass popped as it burned. Growling, he let Fran go and dashed for the exit. A scream and crash came from behind him and he was knocked off his feet.

The whole room was hot now, the air burning inside his lungs. Choking and wheezing, he wriggled out from under pieces of ceiling. Glancing back, he just caught sight of a hand under the debris. The heat was intense, the fire everywhere and spreading. His mind screamed at him to take the last few steps to the door. He had to get back to Marta, to protect her from the fire-starter maniac. But his legs wouldn’t move.

Eyes watering, he choked out a frustrated growl and fell to his knees, pulling the debris off the fallen idiot. She was moaning as she was uncovered and he hooked his arms under her armpits, dragging her out frustratingly slowly.

Once outside in the blinding day-light, he half-fell, half-carried them down the stairs and noticed that her pant leg was on fire. Alarmed, he tore off his coat and patted it down frantically. Fran was coughing madly and shifting when he pulled the coat away to check. The pant leg was smoldering, but no more flames. Exhausted, Ransom collapsed onto his ass, panting and coughing.

Suddenly, he heard fast footsteps approaching. Glancing down at Fran, seeing her breathing but unconscious, he staggered to his feet. He had to bend over and wheeze for a second, but after spitting out some black spittle, he managed to limp to the alley opening. Someone almost ran into him.

“Oh my God! Are you okay, man? What the Hell?”

Ransom waved behind him. “Call an amb-bulence.” He choked out and the bystander saw Fran lying on the floor.

The man nodded and hurried got out his phone, approaching Fran as he did so. Ransom watched him whilst backing away, before he turned and fast-limped to his car. Thankfully he didn’t see anyone else as he slipped in and drove away. 

Once a safe distance away, he pulled over. Still coughing, every muscle aching, he hit the steering wheel angrily. No! He’d been so close! He winced at the sharp pull in his left ankle. Must have bruised it when he’d fallen or dragging that sorry toad out of the fire. He sat for a while, trying to recover his breath and waiting for his throat to recover. He smelled like smoke, the whole car probably did as well. It would be a bitch to get the smell out of the upholstery. _You idiot_ , he berated himself, _thinking about shit like that now_.

Sighing, he texted Marta to check the news and call to see if the lab had a back-up copy. Perhaps one of the lab technicians would have seen the results, but physical proof would be best. Even through the text she sent back, he could tell that Marta was shocked and worried. He couldn’t risk calling her as he was still coughing intermittently but when he got back to his house, he sent a cute picture of animals hugging. It said something about his life that he had a bank of those ready to send to cheer Marta up whenever she was upset.

After a quick but thorough shower, Ransom changed, dug out his old lighter and a forgotten pack of cigarettes. He pulled up outside the back of Marta’s place and lit up. His throat protested even more as he took a few drags but at least when Marta’s nose wrinkled as she got in, she didn’t sound that worried when he coughed.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” he threw the cigarette out the window, wheezing a little, “just remembered why I gave up smoking. Listen Marta,” she looked up at him and suddenly he wished that they could stay forever in the moment. Swallowing, he went on, “I was thinking, why would someone burn the evidence?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know.”

He grabbed her arms and leant in. “Someone who thinks you’re innocent but wants you to take the fall.” Brows furrowed, her mouth hung open. Ransom continued on his perfectly planned explanation of his ‘suspicion’. “What if, what if someone tampered with the vials, swapped the morphine and the…kera stuff you were giving him?”

He had to pull away to cough, so concern was threaded into the confusion as she spoke. “Hugo…”

“It’s the only thing that makes sense.”

Marta bit her lip and looked away, through the windshield. “We should tell Benoit. Tell him everything.”

Ransom nodded, he’d thought the same, Blanc was the only one who could put it together without evidence.

“No matter what happens, I’m here.”

A tear rolled out of her left eye and he handed her a handkerchief. Sniffing, she wiped it and Ransom coughed again. Huffing a weak laugh, she handed him a cough sweet from her purse and he resisted the automatic urge to tell her that wouldn’t help. Still, he put it in his mouth and called the detective’s number from his phone.

They arranged to meet at the house and as he drove them there, Marta put a hand on his knee. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Heart roasting in his chest, he forced himself to keep his eyes on the road. “You’d think of something.”

Marta told Blanc everything, Ransom ensuring to keep quiet and just offer her silent support and a hand squeeze when she needed it. The sleuth did shoot him the occasional look and Ransom had the sinking feeling that he might need to defend himself from accusations of acting in Marta’s and his own interest when the arson came up. At least he’d stopped coughing. When Marta was done, Blanc stared off into the distance, cogs turning. Then he turned back and told them that Fran had been rushed to hospital after being burned in a fire set in the abandoned launderette in town. Marta gasped and Ransom fought to appear surprised by the information.

“I think we need the whole family to come together.” Blanc decided and everyone was rounded up.

Steeling himself for a battle to keep his cool and keep certain information under wraps, Ransom was almost immediately blindsided when Jacob asked him. “Shouldn’t you be in hospital?”

Ransom froze, throat suddenly raw.

He merely raised an eyebrow and Blanc questioned. “Why would you say that?”

The boy looked around at everyone incredulously.

“Son?” Walt prompted.

Jacob explained slowly. “Because he was in the launderette fire…? With Fran?”

“What?” Linda demanded. “When was this?”

“This morning.” Jacob continued and was soon drowned out by confused questions; Linda put a worried hand on Ransom’s shoulder. He shook her off angrily and looked to Marta, whose brows were drawn together in confusion.

“What happened?” She asked him quietly.

Glancing around at the room, Ransom swallowed. “She had a copy of the tox report. It was the only one left after the lab burned down. I was trying to get it off her,” his voice got louder as he glared at Walt, “but it got burned when someone threw a bomb in there.”

Walt clutched his chest. “You don’t think _I_ did that? I’m not a murderer!”

“Miss Thrombey, where are you going?” Blanc asked loudly. Everyone turned to look at Meg’s back close to the door.

She turned slowly and stammered. “I just need some air.”

“Take Trooper Wagner with you.” Elliot suggested and Wagner smiled amiably. Meg hesitated for a moment before nodding and they left.

“Where were you at 8am this morning?” Blanc asked Walt.

He huffed. “I was having breakfast with my son and wife.”

Donna nodded, indicating to Richard and Linda. “They were there too.”

Blanc looked between them all. “Who wasn’t there?”

The family looked around and Richard said. “I think Meg was the only one who wasn’t…”

Everyone looked to the door and then as if on cue, heard a shout and a bang. It was a mad rush to get out and follow, people scrambling over chairs and pushing each other. Wagner was banging on the veranda doors from the outside.

“In here!” Marta ducked into the other drawing room, Ransom following to see Meg pulling a paper out of…a clock?

“Stop!” He shouted, darting past where Marta had stopped and grabbed for Meg. She screamed and tried to shove past him. He held onto her arms, struggling to keep her still. The paper was already ripped in half and she fought him, trying to push him away with a shoulder.

“Let go of my daughter!” Joni shouted. Blanc appeared at Ransom’s shoulder.

“She’s destroying it!” Ransom hissed.

“Let go.” Blanc ordered gently. Someone else was on Ransom’s other side and as he looked at Meg’s tear-stained face, he felt the fight go out of her. He released her slowly and Blanc extracted the two pieces of the report, putting them together and reading them as Elliot put one hand on Meg’s shoulder, the other pushing Ransom away from her. He stepped back a few feet as Joni rushed up.

“Baby! What’s going on?” She demanded, worry lining her face. Ransom was just thinking he hadn’t seen that expression before when Meg burst into tears.

“It was me! I switched the vials!”

The whole room froze. Blanc’s head snapped up from the report, Elliot’s eyes widened, Joni looked confused and there was a mixture of realization and lack of comprehension from the rest. Marta came up to Ransom’s elbow, eyes bright.

Joni asked tremulously. “Meg?”

The girl looked around and Blanc prompted her gently. “You spoke with Harlan in his office the night of the party.”

She stared at him a moment, before focusing on her mother even as the tears streamed down her face. “I asked Grandpa for an advance on my inheritance, so you wouldn’t have to…” She sobbed. “But he told me…he told me I wasn’t, we weren’t getting _anything_!

Pointing at Marta, Meg’s voice rose. “It was all going to her!”

Ransom spared a glance at Marta and on seeing her expression, moved closer, taking her hand.

“So I had to fix it.“ Meg continued. “I switched the vials so you’d give him the wrong drugs. Except you didn’t, so I had to get rid of the evidence. I burned the lab and…and then Fran texted me, said if I didn’t hear from her to go to her stash. So I f-followed her and saw you both…I…I panicked!”

She hid her face in her hands, shoulders shaking. Joni put a tentative arm around her, expression scrunched up. Ransom felt pressure on his hand and absently realized that Marta was squeezing it back. He looked down at their entwined hands and tried to push the flames in his inner eye down. There were voices, but he couldn’t understand the words.

“Hugo.” Marta’s voice floated into his ear. He dragged his eyes up to hers and reentered the room.

“That’s why she told me she thought Grandpa’s death was suspicious!” Jacob was telling someone. “And about the fire!” Meanwhile Meg was being led away as Lieutenant Elliot read her rights; Joni following, strangely mute. Other people were talking but Ransom didn’t care to listen in.

Marta looked up at him, lost and afraid. “I can’t believe it.”

Ransom shrugged, still struggling with the idea himself. He opened his arms and she fell into them gladly. Rubbing her back soothingly, he closed his eyes and enjoyed her warmth against him.

“So…” Trooper Wagner’s voice pierced the lull in conversation. “Who hired you?” Ransom’s heart-rate picked up and he made an effort not to move, resisting the urge to slouch and try to hide behind Marta. “Meg?” Wagner guessed but Benoit shook his head.

“It makes no sense for her to hire me since she only had to egg on her relatives to come to their conclusion.”

Ransom put a hand on Marta’s shoulder and she looked up at him.

“Hey, you wanna get-” He managed before Blanc began talking again, louder so Marta glanced over at the detective.

“No… someone else must have known about the terms of Harlan’s Will, to have possibly guessed sweet Megan’s motive.” Ransom’s fingers clenched involuntarily as Blanc finished. “Someone with reason to protect Marta.” He was staring right at Ransom and in that moment, Ransom’s stomach hollowed out even as his shoulders lifted from the removed weight.

So, it was over.

Marta looked between them, brow furrowing. “Hugo…” She seemed to remember then that his hand was on her shoulder, looking down at it. He removed it slowly and her eyes darted across his face as she asked. “Is this true?”

He looked over her distraught expression, saw the doubt warring with shock and he grit his jaw. This was it: the moment to fulfil his promise to Harlan. He had no choice. Face twisting, he sneered. 

“He told me years ago. Why do you think I’ve been listening to all your whining and holding your hand?” She gasped, a tear spilling over and down her cheek. He heard some mutters from behind him but ignored everyone else, leaning in a little closer to her. “God, how pathetic and gullible you are,” he imitated her accent, “wanting to believe the best in everyone.”

“Hugo, why are you doing this?” He couldn’t stand to hear her tremulous voice, his own voice rising in response.

“Let me tell you this: maybe you’ve held onto the fortune for now, but it doesn’t matter because you’ll lose it soon enough.” He raised the pitch of his voice. “‘Oh Marta! Jacob’s student fees have gone up again!’ ‘Marta! I need another loan to get the company through this rough patch.’ ‘Marta! Since you have the house, maybe we could buy another mansion for Harlan’s _real_ family to live.’”

“Shut up!” She snapped, anger contorting her features. Good, but not good enough. He pushed deeper.

“They’ll never accept the decision and they’ll undermine you every chance they get because you’re _not_ a member of this family. You’re just a low-class, foreign whore who got the pity of an old, dying man.” Smack! Ransom staggered a little under the force of the blow. He moved his tongue around his mouth, tasting blood where his teeth had torn his inner cheek.

“Get out. Now.” She took in a wavering breath, eyes dry now. “And never come back.” He wanted to smile. He wanted to laugh and point up to the sky, ask if his grandfather had seen that; but instead gave the room one last sneer before he stalked out of the house and into the car. The car was as cold as he felt and he had to hold back a shiver. Looking one last time up at the house, he sent up a thought, a prayer.

 _Let her keep it all_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, Marta. No es tu culpa = No, Marta. It’s not your fault.  
> Estoy aqui, te lo juro = I’m here, I promise you.  
> Sí, mi amor. Nuestros hijos serían amados tanto = Yes, my love. Our children would be loved so much.  
> Ellos serían inteligentes y buenos. = They would be intelligent and good.  
> Fun language fact: Ransom did not need to use the pronoun ‘ellos' = 'they’ here, as in Spanish the verb is conjugated for the person (serían = they would be) so personal pronouns are only used for emphasis or clarification or by English speakers first learning Spanish. Not incorrect Spanish, just sounds odd.  
> One more to go! Thanks for reading so far!  
> :D


	7. What We Deserve

Benoit Blanc felt a hundred years old as he left the Thrombey mansion. Well, he supposed it was Marta’s now. He had insisted she call him anytime in case she needed help with her interfering pseudo-family, but the fire in her eyes reassured him that she probably would be able to hold her own. After Ransom had slithered away and Marta’s tears had dried, she’d pulled herself together and dismissed the lingering family members with an almost frosty blast of authority. Benoit suspected she’d melt at some point, but for now she would have no sympathy for the snobs.

What a sorry business indeed. Well, he was glad to be done with it all. Then he received a phone call which informed him that he was not, actually, completely free of it yet.

The dive bar was sparsely occupied on account of the late hour and small town so it was immediately apparent where his charge was. Ransom Drysdale was slumped at a corner table, sick bucket beside him and head resting on his arms. The barman handed Benoit the car keys and then turned away, disgust clear on his face.

Steeling himself, Benoit went over and shook the man’s shoulder. “Mr. Drysdale.”

Ransom grunted and after a few shoves, lifted his head. His eyes were bloodshot, face pale and body sagging; he looked so pathetic that Benoit almost forgot the heinous things he’d done to one of the sweetest women Benoit had ever met. The drunk blinked stupidly, eyes not focusing properly. Impatient to deposit the man at his house and finally be done with the case, Benoit hauled him up. After a moment, Ransom began moving under his own power and together they staggered to Benoit’s car.

The detective managed to extract an address and made sure the other man was belted up before pulling away. His mind turned. Had Ransom given up two years of meticulous and delicate work in a fit of anger? Or had he actually a motive for his hateful words to Marta? Something had been bothering him about the man’s actions. Which was the only reason he’d agreed to come and drink him home.

Seeing the man looking more alert, he asked. “Why did you really hire me?”

After a beat, Ransom answered quietly. “Didn’t want her to find out.”

“The safest play to getting your share of the fortune woulda been to let her take the fall. Why risk it all coming out?”

The silence stretched out until Ransom surprised him.

“About seven years ago, I was in a car accident. Stupid, I was driving too fast in the middle of the night.” His tone had become bored but Benoit could hear underneath the surface. “Mom and dad called me, told me what an idiot I’d been and that the insurance people would be round at some point. Meg and Joni messaged me, words of support, so sorry, hope you get better, blah, blah.”

He sighed heavily, gaze distant as he remembered. “But she came.”

Benoit didn’t need to ask who, just listened as Ransom continued. “She’d only just started working for the old guy and I’m still not sure if he asked her to visit for him as he was getting over the flu or something.” His voice lifted. “She sat with me and made sure I was comfortable and didn’t tell me how stupid and useless I was, just…”

He trailed off and then sniffed. “When Harlan told me about leaving her everything I considered it, throwing her under the bus, blaming her for his death but, those big, brown eyes, man… I couldn’t do it.”

“So you decided the next best thing was to marry her, get half.”

“Well, first was her sister but ah, she’s not interested in men so yeah, that seemed the next best thing.” Ransom leant his head against the window.

“You could have tried a harder to keep her, not provoke her to kicking you out. Seems to me as if your heart wasn’t really in your little scheme anymore.”

Ransom grunted and then explained, so quietly that Benoit had to strain to hear him. “Harlan figured out what I was doing. He was disgusted but he was too sick to try and stop me. Instead he asked me to make sure she kept it all, that no one took it from her. He made me promise that if she found out about my plan that I wouldn’t let her forgive me. If she forgave me, she’d forgive the rest of them.” He sounded very old as he finished. “Better she washes her hands of all of us.”

“And you agreed?” Benoit asked, genuinely curious.

Ransom sighed heavily before muttering. “She’s the real deal. The only one who deserves that money.” Benoit hummed, not disagreeing. “If I stayed, I’d only take advantage of her goodness. Even if I didn’t want to.”

He couldn’t disagree with that either. Biting back the observation that it would have been better to let Marta make her own decisions, as she was a clearly capable and decent human being, he commented on the positive aspect.

“Well, I don’t know if you’re clear-headed enough to appreciate the irony but in pretending to become a better person, Mr. Drysdale, I think you accidently did so.”

“No.” Ransom answered after a moment. “Too late for that.”

Unsure how to respond to the darkness, Benoit asked. “What are you going to do now? Return to your personal trainer empire?”

Ransom didn’t answer and Benoit did not press.

They arrived at the odd, glass-box Ransom apparently lived in. Benoit helped him in and onto the couch. He filled a glass of water and made the slumping figure drink.

After a few sips, Ransom pushed the glass away.

“I hate them.” He spat, wiping his mouth and not seeming to notice Benoit settling down beside him. “But I hate myself more.” Benoit wasn’t surprised by the admission but he hadn’t expected the self-awareness. “Thought I could trick her and then…then I wanted to be worthy of her.” Ransom’s breath hitched. “But I can’t…it’s too late, I’m ruined.”

He broke down into tears, clutching his head in his hands. Benoit wasn’t usually moved by grown men crying – except in the cases of intense grief – but he supposed this was a kind of loss. As far as he knew, Marta and his family were the man’s only support. Maybe he was alone in the world now.

“There, there.” Benoit offered awkwardly, patting Ransom’s shoulder. He did this until the sobs quietened and then he suggested. “Why don’t you hop into bed now? Things’ll look better in the morning. They always do.”

Ransom nodded, not looking up, and accepted Benoit’s hand on his elbow mutely. Feeling like the nanny to an overgrown child, Benoit helped him strip off his outer layers and climb into bed. Ransom curled up immediately, back to Benoit. Suddenly exhausted, the detective grabbed the throw off the couch and curled up to kip there until morning.

He was woken by the sounds of someone moving around in the bathroom. Groaning, Benoit sat up, rubbing his bad shoulder. He forced himself up and put his shoes on. He’d use the bathroom and be on his way, looking forward to getting home and spending time with Phyllis. He waited, automatically examining the ornaments and paintings in the room. There was a card with a picture of some flowers; the inscription read ‘Sorry’. He sneaked a look at the inside and snorted at the cursive ‘that you’re an asshole’. It looked to be a woman’s handwriting and he entertained himself puzzling over who could have written it and why.

A phone rang from the bedroom. No signs of Ransom moving to answer it. Benoit looked at his watch impatiently. What was the fool doing in there? The phone stopped ringing and then a moment later began ringing again. Could be something urgent…Benoit was beginning to get a bad feeling. He knocked on the bathroom door.

“Uh, excuse me, Mr. Drysdale. Your phone seems to be ringing.” There was no response. Benoit held his breath and strained his ears but could only hear the lightest of shuffles. “Are you alright?” Nothing. “I’m coming in!”

Bracing himself, he kicked the door in and paused at what he saw. Ransom was sitting on the edge of the tub, staring down at a handful of pills. After a beat, his eyes wandered up to Benoit, taking in the damaged door and the other man’s expression. Slowly, calmly, he poured the pills back into the bottle. Benoit let out a breath and Ransom looked past him, where the phone was still ringing.

He stood. “I should probably get that.”

Benoit let him go, though he shamelessly eavesdropped as Ransom tried to calm someone down. “I’m sorry I scared you, I’m fine.” He listened and then relented. “Okay, not _fine_ , just, calm down.”

Benoit returned to the bathroom, pocketing the pills and doing his business. He waited in the living room, thinking. Eventually Ransom came out, looking exhausted but clear-eyed.

“I…uh.” He started. “Thank you for giving me a ride back last night and listening to me…” He trailed off, hand gesturing limply.

“Who was that on the phone?”

Ransom scratched the back of his head. “Uh, a friend.” A sad laugh. “Somehow.” He coughed, not quite meeting Benoit’s eye.

“Forgive me for my presumption, but I assume there’s no one local who could look in on you?”

“I’m not a dog.” Ransom snapped. “I’ll be fine.”

Benoit held up his hands placatingly. “Well, if you didn’t have any other plans, why don’t you come with me?”

Those fine brows drew together. “What?”

“Come with me.” Benoit looked around. “Get away from all this. Clear your head some.” Ransom stared at him for a long moment before moving his gaze slowly to the couch. Benoit raised his eyebrows but didn’t rush him, waiting patiently.

Finally, the man sighed and nodded wordlessly. Benoit called his housekeeper and Ransom packed a bag. As he drove them away, he wondered what he’d signed himself up for and if he’d be able to help someone for once, without the specter of death hanging over them all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So when I first drafted this story, it was going to be a short set-up for a Ransom/Benoit fic. Ransom would burn his bridges with everyone but still prove a decent enough person for Benoit to take in and they'd go on adventures together and have lots of sexy times. However, Ransom and Marta genuinely fell in love and there are too many feeeeelings now for them to be separate forever.  
> The next fic in this series will be Benoit, Alicia and Anita helping Ransom continue on his journey to being a good person (he loves Marta yes, but didn't respect/trust her to fend for herself or know about her inheritance - same problem Harlan had). Also he really needs some more self-esteem (his current self-worth is tied too closely to deserving to be with Marta). Marta will come back and they will reconcile but it will take time.  
> Incidentally, I am in the market for a beta. If you're interested in betaing part 2 and possibly some other Knives Out fics I have brewing, do let me know. :D  
> Thank you so much for reading and hope you've enjoyed so far!  
> :D


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